Vain Streak
by Tar-Palantir
Summary: Chapter 11: Join Mary-Jane and the 'gang' on their quest to...I don't know what their quest is at the moment. Nor do they. We (finally) get to Edoras and briefly meet some officials there. please R & R
1. A foul wind from the East

Disclaimer: I do not own Legolas or any related characters. I also do not the character Mary-Sue as I believe in the freedom and human rights of all original characters.  
  
A/N: This fic is dedicated to/written for my friend Jane, who happens to hate Legomances and Mary-Sues, as do I. She did, however ask me to write it, and kept harassing me about writing it, and will be celebrating the instalment of the first chapter, and will keep harassing me about further chapters. She's a very strange person (no offence Jane, but you are, and stop poking me).  
  
So, without further ado, here it is:  
  
Oh wait - more ado - please forgive any strangeness or stupidity. I wrote this on a bus at the end of a tour around Tasmania (island state pretending to be part of Australia)(no offence meant to any Tasmanians) with minimal sleep and a head cold.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Legolas dipped his hands into the icy stream, and brought the water up in cupped hands, splashing his perfectly proportioned face. He dried his face and hands on his shirt, before pulling it back over his head, onto his firm, muscular body. He smiled at his reflection in the rippling water of the stream, showing his sparkling white teeth.  
  
He stood, silent, then turned without a noise. He walked back to the clearing and the glowing coals which had, the previous night been a hearty cooking fire, guarding them from the cold of night.  
  
His sharp ears detected the sound of movement behind him.  
  
"Good morning," Legolas grinned, turning to face the man.  
  
"This morning," grumbled Boromir, "is anything but 'good'." Boromir was not what you called a 'morning person', quite the opposite in fact.  
  
"But what do you mean by 'good morning'?" enquired Aragorn, getting u from his resting place. "Do you mean that it is a good morning, or do you mean to wish me a good morning, or do you mean that it is a good morning to be good on, or do."  
  
"Shut up, Strider" said Boromir scornfully, glaring at the man.  
  
"I was just wondering what Legolas meant." Aragorn sulked.  
  
"Oh come on, Gandalf said that like a hundred years ago, it's getting old."  
  
"I'm not getting old!" cried Legolas indignantly. He had fast gotten bored of the conversation and had switched off, but was rudely awakened on hearing his name and the word 'old' in quick succession.  
  
"Huh?" Asked Boromir, confused. He wasn't a very smart cookie, and was easily confused.  
  
"Well, you're older than me," stated Merry, who had just joined them, hearing only the last part of the conversation.  
  
"And me," added Aragorn.  
  
"Me too," agreed Boromir, who had just caught up.  
  
"And me!" Said Frodo.  
  
"Me too," said Sam, not knowing what he was claiming to be, but could not handle the thought of not being something Frodo was.  
  
"Me as well!" exclaimed Pippin. "What are we all?" he whispered to Merry.  
  
"Younger than Legolas."  
  
"Oh, well, of course we are all younger than him."  
  
Legolas had had enough. With Pippin's last comment he ponced out of the clearing. He walked aimlessly, blind with anger. He found himself on the summit of a hill, where he sat and continued to mope.  
  
Aragorn found him later, string into the distance, a troubled expression on his otherwise beautiful face.  
  
"There is a foul wind coming from the East." Legolas informed him.  
  
"What is it? Sauron? What? Who?" Aragorn panicked. Like the majority of Middle-earth he didn't like Sauron. He especially didn't like him now that everyone thought he was weak just because Sauron had defeated a pathetic excuse for an ancestor of his through a stupid bit of jewellery.  
  
"Yeah, uh huh, right Legolas," said Gimli, who happened to pop up from nowhere in particular at that moment. "Last time you said that it was just a bunch of birds."  
  
"I don't like Ravens." Legolas said sulkily. He was still in a bad mood from the morning's conversation about his age. "But it is not that which troubles me." He said poetically.  
  
"Don't keep us in suspense," said Aragorn, still uneasy. He didn't like birds either, especially ones who happened to ravens, who happened to fly overhead and who happened to be spies of Sauron.  
  
"The air moves in a foul way from the dark lands of the East. It troubles me greatly."  
  
"So it is Sauron?"  
  
"No, it's stuffing up my hair."  
  
Aragorn stomped off, muttering to himself. Did Legolas try to frustrate him, or did it just come naturally? Legolas knew Aragorn was incredibly stressed about the coming orcs trying to get the One Ring of Power, Sauron, the One Ring of Power, Saruman, the One Ring of Power, etc.  
  
Legolas looked after Aragorn. He was being very moody lately. It upset him to see Aragorn annoyed, and he couldn't handle the concept of anyone being annoyed at someone so perfect as he.  
  
Gimli stayed a moment longer than Aragorn, looking curiously at Legolas (who was still looking Eastward) wondering at Legolas' sanity.  
  
Pretty good looking, if your into that kind of thing, not too bright though, and a tad vain, but what could you expect from an elf? Gimli concluded.  
  
A/N: to all those legomance and Mary-Sue fans, don't stress! Mary Sue is coming, but she needs a whole chapter to herself, so maybe next chapter. And as soon as Mary-Sue is in the fic, you can guess what happens between her and a certain elf. My friend Jane want's me to change Mary-Sue's name to 'Jane', cos 'Jane's a noce name.' Let me know what you think.  
  
Oh, and by the way, this is set when the fellowship are at the Falls of Rauros, and Boromir isn't dead (yet), as is evident by his physical presence in the scene. 


	2. Stranger in the forest

Apologies all round for the dreadful spelling, punctuation, grammar, phrasing, expression etc etc. I wrote it on the bus in Tasmania, but I also typed it up while recovering from the trip around Tasmania. I know it's not much of an excuse, but oh well. You'll have to live with it. And more apologies for putting it in the wrong section (Lord of the Flies instead of Lord of the Rings). Hey, it's an easy mistake to make. And I fixed it before most of you noticed anyway. So yeah.  
  
I'm rambling and will soon shut up and get on with the fic, I promise. Oh and by the way, I'm writing this after my first day back at school after two weeks of holidays, so any violence or randomness is all school-related, and not my fault. The delay in writing and posting this chapter is also the schools fault, apologies for that as well.  
  
Oh, and I decided to call Mary-Sue 'Jane', cos it's easier to write that way, and because everyone prefers that name anyway. Damn you all, I like Mary-Sue as a name. My character will insult the name Jane in ages to come; no one will call their kid Jane once the world knows this character, unless they are really cruel. Here's a compromise, I'll call my character Mary-Jane. How's that. It'll probably change to 'Jane' when I get too lazy to write her whole name. All the Janes in the world will just have to build a bridge and get over it.  
  
Onwards! There is a clear chapter ahead of us, which we must fill with mindless nonsense before the sun sinks below yonder horizon!  
  
Yeah, hmmm.  
  
Chapter Two:  
  
WARNING: serious Mary-Jane bashing follows. Legolas bashing coming soon. I have nothing against Legolas, but am feeling very sour towards Mary-Jane and anyone associated with her. She's really not as bad as I tell it, in fact, like a lot of Mary-sues, she is perfect in every way, except she annoys me greatly, and I am holding a grudge against her. Oh and Jane, this character Mary-Jane is not based on you, in case you hadn't noticed, and I'm only holding a grudge against you because you keep poking me. GRRRR.  
  
I'll start the chapter any time now.  
  
Mary-Jane didn't quite know why she strolled into the forest on a dank, dreary Saturday morning. The forest laid a fair while outside the town boundaries. She had always been curious of the forest, but today it seemed to be calling to her, drawing her into it's depths.  
  
The trees were dark and thick, the ground covered in layers of decomposing leaf matter. The air was stuffy, and smelt of damp leaves and bark. Little light was permitted through the thick canopy, lending the forest an air of mystery, and leaving the scene colourless. The path was faint, no human traffic had moved along its twisting course in decades. Mary-Jane felt uneasy in the forest but curious and surprisingly calm.  
  
When she was younger, Mary-Jane feared the forest above all other things, and her curiosity had stemmed from there. She had heard many stories about this forest, most about confused events, strange happenings and magic. There had been a road through the wood in ages past, but no evidence of it remained.  
  
Mary-Jane admitted to herself that the forest felt a little strange, a little eerie, even a little magical. Mary-Jane was reminded suddenly that she didn't believe in magic, so instantly erased the thought of magic from her mind and memory. The forest however, did not seem evil or inspire any fear within her. But that may have been because Mary-Jane's intellect was too small to comprehend fear. But it might have been the atmosphere of the forest. The trees grew thinner and the paths more numerous as Mary-Jane travelled further into the depths of the forest. She half-expected to come to a clearing, or find herself at the edge of the forest. She expected the trees to grow thicker towards the heart of the forest. Her mother would have been proud of her; she had observed something other than the colour of the leaves (green, by the way, she *had* noticed that).  
  
She was soon lost in the forest's vast depths. She had been walking for hours, how many she did not know. Nor did she know from which direction she came. The twisting confusion of paths, which would have confused even a mildly intelligent person, did nothing to help the situation. Mary-Jane felt panic and fear rise like a knot inside her. (So she could comprehend fear, my mistake, she must be smarter than she looks). She had never considered the possibility, likely though it was, that she should have to return from the forest whence she came. Her only thoughts had been to explore the forest. It had enchanted her and she found it's call irresistible. But now she was lost in the forest's vast tangle of trees, what little sense she possessed took control for perhaps the third time in her life.  
  
Looking to her left, she noticed the land rise and the trees thin. She began to climb what proved to be a hill. She no longer felt the beckoning enchantment, which had led her into the forest in the beginning. She began to believe that she was going quite mad. This assumption proved to be quite accurate, as not many feel a forest call them into its depths and do not end up in the loony bin.  
  
She was not quite at the summit when she looked up from the ground at her feet and gasped. The view was spectacular. A green canopy of trees spread like a vast carpet in every direction. On the horizon stood a cold, grey mountain rang, which could hardly be seen for all the trees. It took Her a moment for Mary-Jane to take in the beauty scenery around her. Spectacular though it was, the scene didn't look or feel quite right. There was something, playing in the back of her mind telling her that something was amiss.  
  
She once again began to panic. She could not see the edge of the trees, or the plains she knew lay beyond the forest. The cold mountains on the horizon were not at all familiar, and were a totally different formation to those she knew around her town. The small amount of malnourished, under- used and under-treated sense Mary-Jane possessed came once again to her rescue. She may have come up the wrong side of the hill, she reasoned, and was looking towards the centre of the forest, rather than the way she had come. Now that her moment of panic was finished she refused to believe that she was lost. She once again put her head down and marched towards the summit. The ground was rocky, and steep. The final part of the ascent was hard work and Mary-Jane was soon gasping for air.  
  
She sat on a rock, taking a minute to catch her breath and to recover from the climb. She looked around her, and gasped again. She was doing this a lot lately, any sane person would believe she was going for a gasping record. This presumption, however sane, was, in fact wrong. The reason for her gasp was the view in front of her. Below her she found a great river, swift moving, dividing the landscape. She heard the faint roar of a waterfall in the distance. Beyond the river was a harsh, impassable mountain range. None of these she recognised. She did not know of a great river such as this coming into or out of the forest. But then again, she never really paid attention to the local geography of her town, and could easily be wrong. Geography classes were there to provide time to catch up on missed sleep. For the matter of interest, Mary-Jane wasn't wrong. She hadn't remembered a great river simply because there was no great river going into or out of the forest. She stared at the river in disbelief for a long time. The river looked almost black and the ripples reflected the late afternoon light.  
  
Wait.  
  
'Late afternoon'????  
  
Either Mary-Jane had been walking for longer than she thought or she was going mad. As the latter seemed more likely she wandered down towards the river. The afternoon was hot and a cool, refreshing drink was in order.  
  
Walking down the steep side of the hill was painful, and her muscles were still complaining about the ascent, a cramp was forming in her left shoulder.  
  
'Man I'm unfit,' Mary-Jane complained out loud, bending over, sucking in air in the hope to rid herself of the muscle cramps.  
  
'Beg Pardon?' A voice spoke from behind her. The voice was soft, sweet and melodious, as the owner was singing rather than talking.  
  
Mary-Jane jumped, and spun around in the same moment. She had not given a thought to other beings in the forest, she always assumed she was alone. She hadn't even seen any birds, or even hints of the animals who must have made the twisting labyrinth of paths Mary-Jane had followed. The absence of animals in the forest, in hindsight, was rather spooky.  
  
Mary-Jane stood frozen, her muscles refusing to catch up to her racing heart and spinning mind. She stared at the owner of the voice. He had deep brown eyes, abnormally sized ears, which he would have been teased for as a kid, and long, blonde hair, probably to hide the ears. He wasn't very old, perhaps a little over twenty; he had a small build with firm, defined muscles. His whole complexion was enough to drool over, which Mary-Jane would have done had she not been so startled by his presence. His expression was that of innocence, general confusion, curiosity and surprise. She stood there, staring at him in silence, not knowing what to do or say.  
  
He shifted his weight, still regarding her calmly, a hint of sarcasm flickered across the perfect features of his face. This small movement brought Mary-Jane back to earth with a heavy thud. His slight movement had revealed a quiver of arrows and a large bow slung across his back and some dangerous-looking daggers at his side (Not that all daggers aren't dangerous-looking, I've never come across an innocent-looking dagger, neither had Mary-Jane).  
  
Her expression changed from shock and curiosity to utter horror. She stared at him, unable to move, her feet planted to the ground, her eyes glued to his weapons. He stood and moved towards her, both hands out, palms up in the universal gesture for 'I'm not going to kill you with my big terrifying weapons - yet'. She stared at him, her mind racing. She tried to grab onto one of her thoughts as they rushed by, hoping it would lend some reasoning, consolation or advise. He took a step towards her, his hands still in the same position. Her feet, at last, were responding to the confused, rushed commands of her brain. She edged backwards, not able to tear her eyes from his weapons. He paused, as though considering. At last Mary-Jane was released from his spell. She tore her eyes from his weapons, spun around on the spot, and ran like a bunny out of a refrigerator.  
  
Her heart was pounding so loud in her ears she could not hear her pursuer. She tripped and stumbled through the undergrowth, but was amazingly able to keep her footing. She jumped over a log, and turned to run directly downhill. The descent was steeper and more slippery than it looked. She tripped and fell over a small branch, hidden by fallen leaves littering the ground. She jumped up, glimpsing behind her only to see her pursuer only metres behind her. She was stumbling more as she tired. Her left legs were cramping and the stitch in her left shoulder had returned and became sharper with every breath.  
  
She looked down, her sight failing, her head spinning from the lack of oxygen. Two strong hands grabbed her from behind, and spun her around. The man looked into her terrified, crazed eyes. With the last ounce of strength she vainly struggled against his hold, beating at the strong arms with her fists.  
  
A/N: I know that's a crap way to end a chapter. Stop complaining. A new chapter coming soon, maybe, hopefully. Don't wait for another chapter. I'll try to get one up next week. But that probably will not come to pass, so maybe the week after, or the week after that. I'm not promising anything. 


	3. Trust

A/N: sorry and all that about the lateness. But keep reviewing dammit. I love reviews, I live on them when food is scarce, I breathe when there is no air because of them. Hmmm, yeah, in a strange mood today aren't we??? Also, I want to here any suggestions I could try to incorporate into this, or any random constructive abuse, even the not-so-constructive abuse.  
  
Legolas is so damn hard to write. Tolkein was such a genius, I can never try to write any of his characters, I should just stop now.  
  
Mary-Jane's character seems to change in this chapter. Actually, her character doesn't change, but my perception of her does. We are now on good terms, Mary-Jane and I, having overcome or differences, but do not despair! Her perfectness will annoy me soon enough.  
  
Chapter Three:  
  
Vainly, she beat at the strong arms which held her captive. Each fist fall was weaker than the last and the interval between each longer. Her energy and strength was abandoning her quickly. At last her arms lay still beside her, feeling like lead, accepting that she had been defeated by this tall, strong stranger. She lifted her head, staring defiantly into the strangers deep eyes, her face streaked with tears.  
  
He stared, searchingly into her eyes. They were a wall of defiance, only the past actions and the tears falling down her face showed her state of mind, an any emotions she might have felt. Still he searched. Slowly he found cracks in her defence, and saw, through them, her mind. Her eyes betrayed her, showing her state of panic, her confusion and her fear.  
  
'Mellon,' he whispered, a vain attempt to calm her. Even these hushed words had a melodic quality to them.  
  
He stared again into her eyes, still searching. When he spoke no hint of understanding or even recognition passed across her expression. As he stared at her, she felt as though he were trying to see into her very soul, this was quite an accurate sensation as this was precisely what he was trying to do.  
  
'Mellon!' He spoke again, more urgently. Again, her eyes showed nothing, she did not comprehend. At last he understood.  
  
'Friend,' he translated into the common tongue. 'I am a friend.'  
  
Her eyes showed understanding. But her confusion was only heightened, with the new question: should she believe this stranger? Her mind was in conflict, one half already under the stranger's spell set by the tones of his voice.  
  
She looked again into his eyes, trying to find an answer in the deep depths. He stared long into her eyes, trying to reassure her without words.  
  
His eyes showed sudden distraction, suddenly darting towards sounds unheard by the crude ears of Mary-Jane.  
  
'Hlasta!' he cried urgently, seemingly to himself. 'Yrch!'  
  
He turned to address Mary-Jane, his grip now lightly holding her, not in restraint. 'There are foul things afoot, we must fly. I have friends camped not far from this place, we should join them.' Seeing the expression on Mary-Jane's face he added 'Trust me.'  
  
'Trust,' she scoffed under her breath, she new too much of trust to bestow it so carelessly.  
  
'I promise no harm will come to you under my protection,' his melodious voice hinted with accents of urgency. 'Come.'  
  
Mary-Jane complied. She felt she had no choice in the matter. Trust him or not, she could do nothing but follow him.  
  
He ran lightly over the undergrowth littered with sticks, roots and fallen tree trunks. He agonised over his decision. He read no evil in the stranger's eyes. He knew not of her background, and nothing of her purpose, if any, in the forest. His instincts told him to trust her, and logic confirmed this. If she was indeed a spy of the enemy why would she not have any weapons in her possession? Why would she come blundering down a hillside? Why would she run from him in such a fashion, blindly and without direction? He had read enough in her eyes to know the scale of her terror and confusion. How could these be signs of evil?  
  
She ran, stumbling and tripping over the undergrowth trying to keep up with the stranger whom she had just bestowed her trust upon. She had no idea of their direction, but then she had no idea of her position when she had first run from the stranger. She looked ahead, and found that the stranger had stopped suddenly, before a rock, and was stooping down to collect something from off the rock. She froze again, her heart racing.  
  
The stranger sensed her tension, and turned to face her, his quiver of arrows and bow slung over his back. 'Does trust mean nothing to you?' He inquired.  
  
Mary-Jane looked bewildered, not knowing what to do or say. A thought passed across her mind. She could run from him again. But her energy and strength had left her long ago, and he would easily catch her again.  
  
'I promised to protect you, do not think I make these lightly.'  
  
Mary-Jane had to believe him. He could have easily killed her, or taken her prisoner without going to the trouble of making her trust him. Though he may have promised to protect her, and he might trust her, his friends he spoke of may not act the same way. He ran ahead, motioning to her to follow. She was once again deprived of choices. What could she do other than sit there and be lost forever in the dark expanse of the forest if she did not follow him. He seemed at home in the forest, and might be able to point her in the right direction. She chose to ignore the stranger's strange clothes and ears, as it did not help her reassure herself.  
  
She stumbled over a log, hidden in the undergrowth. Her knee stung where she fell. She jumped up and ran on, ignoring the throbbing sensation in her left leg. She looked down to the ground, determined not to trip over again. She felt very uncoordinated compared to the man who was running lightly over the ground, as if his feet hardly touched the ground over which he travelled. As she glanced down she saw a slash of red go through her line of sight. She followed it with her eyes, and saw a red liquid coming from her throbbing knee. Now she was bleeding all over the forest, fantastic. She kept on, not knowing how far she travelled and in what direction.  
  
She stumbled suddenly into a clearing, the great river which she had seen before on the other side of the clearing. A man with dark hair, deep almost black eyes and rugged appearance glanced interestedly at her, before jumping up in reaction, drawing his sword t the same time.  
  
Sorry about the shortness. I wanted to put up another chapter, so I wrote this quickly, it is therefore not at all long or of any quality. Oh well. Better stuff will follow, I finish assessment at school this week so I'll have heaps of time in the not-so-distant future. Then I have heaps of holidays so I can write more, and you can al suffer the consequences. And must I add - please review? I love reviews, I love all my reviewers, and I thank all you who have reviewed (except for Jane, because.she knows why) 


	4. Namigaal, and a Sword

Hello all. Thankee very muchly for al thy great reviews. Hehehehe. In a strange mood, can you tell? Well it's 8:25 and I'm at school, and I am writing this, as is apparent.  
  
And Jane, I cannot tell you what happens 'cause that would spoil the fun. smiling vindictively and I don't really know. And Mary-Jane is perfect for a reason: that is, SHE IS A MARY-SUE dammit. And she annoys me too if it's any consolation. And I am updating soon, LilOne, I am updating now, as a matter of fact. And MidnightsFairy, why would I beat myself up about a legomance? But thank you for your concern, 'tis appreciated. Oh, and by the bye, I am NOT the character Mary-Jane, in case you want to know. Mary- Jane and I are good friends, though her perfect-ness annoys me greatly, but she is not, even by the loosest description, me. And Europa, don't knock my expression. My English teachers do that enough. And would you run if you were a bunny trapped in a refrigerator? I am sure the bunny would not enjoy living in a refrigerator, and so therefore would run quickly from it at the first possible moment. Do you like my reasoning? Ok, perhaps a little strange, but verified all the same. I know I'm responding to pretty old reviews, but keh sheh meh. And Mary-Jane is NOT blonde, not naturally anyway.  
  
Thanks to Jess for the wonderful name. Just read, you'll understand.  
  
I'll start the chapter soon...  
  
.maybe.  
  
hehe...  
  
suspence..  
  
or just stupidity...  
  
.I'm thinking perhaps the latter.  
  
yeah...ok.this is boring now.  
  
Hmmmm  
  
Chapter 4:  
  
She stumbled suddenly into a clearing, the great river which she had seen before on the other side of the clearing. A man with dark hair, deep almost black eyes and rugged appearance glanced interestedly at her, before jumping up in reaction, drawing his sword at the same time.  
  
Movement to her left caught her attention. She glanced around, only to see a small man jump up, wielding an axe. Three smaller men in shorts jumped up, expressions of confusion and terror marking their faces.  
  
'She is a friend,' the blonde stranger explained, apparently amused by the reactions of these people.  
  
The man paused, considering then relaxed, not trusting the man's reassurance enough to put down his sword. The small men to Mary-Jane's left eyed her with suspicion, but did not attack her, which was better than she had hoped for. The atmosphere was tense and suspicious, like a hair stretched taught between the circle of people.  
  
The blonde man was suddenly distracted again by apparent noise behind him.  
  
'Hlasta!' he whispered.  
  
The tall man, apparently understanding his fair tongue finished looking suspiciously at Mary-Jane and stared intently in the direction to which the blonde man was staring, his face the picture of concern.  
  
'Orcs? On this shore?' He asked, while Mary-Jane tried to grasp what the hell they were going on about.  
  
'I believe so, and not far from this place,' the blonde man replied.  
  
'Where is Frodo?' The other questioned urgently.  
  
'And Boromir?' asked one of the small men to Mary-Jane's left.  
  
They all picked up weapons at once, Mary-Jane stiffened, as though expecting an attack. They ran from the clearing without a second glance at Mary-Jane. She relaxed, at least they weren't blaming her for the disappearance of their friends.  
  
The blonde stranger was the only one left in the clearing with Mary-Jane. He was examining a sword, plain but of indescribable grace and beauty.  
  
'You may need this,' he explained, handing over the sword.  
  
Mary-Jane looked down at the sword being offered to her, an overwhelming sense of fear threatening to take over her mind. She took the sword mutely, not able to find the words stuck in her throat. In her hands it looked dull and awkward. She lifted it awkwardly, examining it in the light. She looked up at his face, only to see him looking down at her with an expression of sarcastic amusement. She looked deep into his eyes, trying to find a meaning to all the riddles that had been flying around. She didn't understand this place. Nothing was constant to that of her world, nothing was similar, yet everything was similar in a kind of dissimilar way. She recognised things that she knew, but on closer inspection they were not quite the same. It was quite unnerving for Mary- Jane. And now this stranger had given her a sword. A weapon used in ages past, something rarely known of where she came from. Her feeling of anxiety was increasing. She was feeling increasingly unsafe in the hands of this stranger.  
  
The stranger, sensing the chaos in her mind, tried to reassure her: 'do not trouble yourself, for though we are all in deadly peril, I promise you that in my keep no harm will come to you.'  
  
She looked into his eyes and saw the depth of his promise.  
  
'I don't even know your name,' she said weakly.  
  
'So you don't. I am Legolas, son of Thranduil, Prince of Mirkwood.'  
  
Nearly all of this went straight over Mar-Jane's head, as she looked dazed at him, listening to the beautiful melodious voice. All she comprehended was that he had a beautiful name, Legolas, what a stunning name, it suited him, and he was a prince of some kind. She didn't know how to react to that. She awoke from her dream to see that he was looking down at her expectantly. She wondered how long she had been staring dumbly at him.  
  
'I'm.I'm,' she stammered, searching around for an impressive name like his, 'Namigaal'.  
  
'Namigaal,' he rolled the name around his perfectly proportioned mouth. It sounded melodious and rhythmical in his accents.  
  
She looked down, hoping her eyes would not betray her lie.  
  
He was distracted once more. His keen eyes seeing what she could not, hearing what she was deaf to.  
  
'Come,' he spoke, unslinging his bow.  
  
She followed, carrying the sword awkwardly in one hand. It was heavier than it looked, she didn't know how Legolas had handled it so easily. She only hoped she didn't trip and fall onto the sword and skewer herself. That would not be pleasant, and not make a good impression.  
  
Then she heard it, faint at first, but growing steadily louder, louder and louder still. The pounding of a thousand feet on the soft forest floor. A thousand feet running in the same direction. A thousand feet with purpose. A thousand feet marching to war. The fear that dwelled in her heart came to settle in her stomach, like a sickening, squirming, angry, worm trapped in a matchbox.  
  
A/N: in true Mary-Sue fashion, more nothing has happened in this chapter. Nothing happened in the last chapter either. Hmmmm. I should try to remedy that. Oh well. I will promise that stuff does happen soon (like Boromir dying YAY). And Shiv, I put the worm in this chapter instead of next, apologies to any worm lovers. That's all Folks.  
  
New chapter coming soon. But I've started work on a new fic, and I'm all involved and am really enjoying writing it. So the chapter might take a while, depends on how mush of the other one I write. But ONE MORE WEEK OF SCHOOL and then I'm free, so plenty of writing to come. 


	5. Fight to the End

Hey all. Thought I should write this sooner rather than later, but I probably won't upload it for ages, so there's really no point. Except that I'm in science, and am really bored. We are supposed to be typing up prac reports or something equally boring. But, as I said, there's one more week of school, and I've done it anyway. Aren't I a good little cookie aren't I? don't answer that unless the answer happens to be favourable to myself  
  
The other reason I'm writing this is because nothing happened last chapter and I HATE it when nothing happens. I hate reading fics when nothing happens, but I especially hate writing fics when nothing happens. So you're all excused for hating this fic. Why are you reading it? It's crap and nothing happens. Stuff will happen, but as yet nothing has happened. I will shuttup now and get on with it.  
  
And about the worm in the matchbox, you have to put yourself in the worm's position, would you squirm and be extremely angry if you were a poor unsuspecting worm suddenly shoved into a matchbox? I believe so.  
  
For your own, and my own, benefit, I will repeat the worm thing, in case you missed it.  
  
Here goes  
  
Chapter 5:  
  
The fear that dwelled in her heart came to settle in her stomach like a sickening, squirming, angry worm trapped in a matchbox. She looked to Legolas for comfort. He was staring distractedly towards the on-coming marchers. He drew hi bow and set an arrow to it.  
  
'We must find my friends,' he addressed her in accents of concern, 'they are in considerable danger, their fate affects the fate of the whole of Middle-earth.'  
  
Mary-Jane nodded dumbly, not understanding much of it, only knowing that considerable danger was code for deadly peril, and that she too was in danger.  
  
He looked at her steadily, she felt her confidence grow in her, like she was suddenly taller, as if she was somehow prepared for the coming battle. She flicked the hair (brown, case you wanted to know) from her face and stared determined towards the enemy. She caught the sound of harsh voices among the pounding feet. The voices sent shivers through her very soul, but still she stood, tall and proud.  
  
A few minutes ago she had considered the trust of Legolas, and of his friends. Now she was placing her life in his hands, and she was prepared to risk her life for him and his cause. She didn't have much choice in the matter, as the approaching footsteps came yet closer, and the only thing that seemed at all reasonable was to stick with this stranger. He had promised to keep her safe. She saw in his eyes that he did not make promises lightly and was not prepared to break them.  
  
She stared at his back as she trundled on. Even amidst her fear and confusion she was able to appreciate the grace of his step, the art of treading lightly as to make no noise on the forest floor. She appreciated his golden hair for it's gently swish as Legolas ran. His bow was still at ready, still with an arrow fitted to it. He was prepared for the attack, and he was facing it with the courage of a being who knew nought of death. His concern for his friends was touching, and Mary-Jane felt herself once again lost in the spell he had first cast upon her.  
  
They reached the summit of the hill. Her energy was returning to her as the courage had rose in her before. She felt powerful and determined, and accepting of whatever fate was to come.  
  
It was then that she saw them. A band of the most hideous creature ever to know the earth. They swarmed in their thousands, all wielding weapons and calling in hideous tongues. They were monsters, determined to bring about death and destruction.  
  
'They are orcs,' explained Legolas, looking onto the horrific scene. 'Yrch in my tongue. They are the cruellest things to roam Middle-earth. They naturally despair under the face of our Sun's fair rays. These orcs do not know that fear. They are skilled fighters, for that is what they enjoy above all things, but do not care for numbers lost, or friends gone.' The tone of his voice revealed a mixture of contempt and sorrow: sorrow that the fair earth had to see these vile creatures.  
  
Mary-Jane looked on in horror. Her courage and determination threatened to leave her, and the sword in her hand felt heavy and useless. She could not handle this weapon, even to defend herself. Doubts filled her mind. She could not help herself, and would become a burden on this new friend.  
  
He turned to her, gave an encouraging smile before taking up a vantage point to shoot at the orcs. His smile brought back the courage that was still lingering in her heart, and drove her doubts away. She brandished the sword. It looked beautiful in the light. A warmth and power worked through her. It radiated from eth hand she held the sword in. It found its way to the deepest, most remote corners of her soul and dwelled there. She felt comfortable with the sword, as if she had been studying the art of swordplay for centuries.  
  
Then the orcs were upon her. She raised her sword and glared at them with a hatred she had never known. They were trying to kill her, the only thing she could do was kill them back, she reasoned. She made a sweep with the sword, taking off the head of an orc as it charged at her. It was as if the world suddenly slowed down, as if someone had just pressed the 'slow motion' button. The head fell to the ground with a sickening thud. The body fell forward, to it's knees, then slowly, slowly it fell, chest first to the ground, coming to rest a few metres from its head. Mary-Jane looked upon it in shock. She could not believe what she had just done. Killing, no matter how foul the creature may be, she saw as wrong. A sin. The worst offence anyone could ever commit. She glanced up, another orc was charging at her, still in slow motion. She watched it come.  
  
She heard the shot of an arrow close to her head. The world was working at normal pace again. She saw the second orc fall, clutching an arrow stuck in his chest. She glanced up to see Legolas take aim and shoot again. She raised her sword once more.  
  
More and more orcs charged at her. Every time an orc fell she felt a kind of achievement. She grew more courageous, not only fighting the orcs that charged at her. She found herself enjoying it, and loved the thrill that came with every new attacker. Together they were killing and wounding many orcs, but still they came. Mary-Jane dreaded the time when she would tire and she would have to turn and run from the orcs, or be killed.  
  
Faintly she heard the sound of a horn in the distance, a little further upstream.  
  
'Namigaal,' Legolas called to her. She glanced up at him momentarily. He was running in the direction of the horn, and motioned for her to follow him.  
  
She turned and ran. She expected to hear the thundering of the orc-feet behind her. She expected to feel the pain of a weapon being driven through her back. But it did not come. She turned to look, only to see the orcs running in their direction, but following another path to their left. She could hear them, flattening the undergrowth with their heavy footfalls, struggling against low braches that snagged on their armour and weaponry.  
  
Still they ran. Mary-Jane saw a clearing not too far off. The horn was still sounding, it's call seemed more desperate than before. Legolas quickened his pace. Mary-Jane willed herself to go faster, she did not want to be left alone to face the orcs. They were near the clearing. They would have to pass through it to get to the bearer of the horn. A feeling of foreboding settled in her mind.  
  
It was at the clearing that the orcs attacked. They called in hideous voices, certain of their victory. Mary-Jane knew failure was inevitable, but she would fight to the end. She readied herself for the first wave of orcs. Drawing her sword she heard the sounding of the horn once more, a desperate plea for help. She fought across the clearing, trying to break free of the orcs' attack and run to the aid of the unknown horn-bearer.  
  
Then, a signal was given, and the orcs retreated. Turned and ran after the thousands of others of their kind. The yelled triumphantly, s if they had found the token which they had set out to find, and having that, they were content to go whence they came.  
  
Was staring at the retreating orcs, surprised and perplexed. Why would they turn to run like that? They certainly did not fear more bloodshed? The orc numbers were by far greater than theirs; the orcs could have defeated an army of ten times the size of the fellowship. He was suspicious. This did not make sense to his mind. His soul was not content with this outcome. He drew another arrow, not wanting to be caught unprepared, and made his way, like a hunter stalking his prey, to the place where they had heard the horn's last plea for help.  
  
Mary-Jane followed. She sensed Legolas' tension and confusion, and she too was not comfortable with the outcome of the battle. The walked carefully, trying not to make a noise in the leaf litter. To their right came the sound of running footsteps. They both froze, as if reading each others' mind. One second analysis confirmed in Legolas' mind that these were not the footsteps of any orc. He did, however, draw his arrow taught, ready to shoot.  
  
The footsteps grew louder. They were quick, heavy and laboured. A metal cap could be seen, and an axe Mary-Jane recognised as the one belonging to the small man she had seen before. The small man stumbled onto the path Mary-Jane and Legolas were following.  
  
He stopped on seeing them, straightened, and then relaxed. He saw Mary- Jane, poised to attack, and Legolas likewise. Without a word being spoken they all continued to creep along the path. Mary-Jane was astounded by the sort of mutual understanding the two men had with each other. They continued, the pace was slow, as they made the way carefully through the litter of fallen branches, sticks and leaves, the small man making considerably more noise than the other two.  
  
Finally they came to the edge of what had been a battle scene. The bodies of fallen orcs lay strewn across the landscape. Mary-Jane looked upon them in mounting contempt.  
  
Legolas moved forward. Dragging her eyes from the destruction of the scene at her feet she saw two men, amongst the ruin, one bent over the other.  
  
'He fought well,' he reflected. 'He tried to save Merry and Pippin. They took them and fled. It is obvious what they came for.'  
  
Legolas hung his head in sorrow. Gimli stared at the ground, overcome with grief. Mary-Jane turned and left. It was her fault.  
  
She was so ashamed. She tried her best and had failed miserably. Now a man was dead because of her. Tears welled in her eyes as she walked blindly. She didn't know where she was going, she just wanted to get away from it, and if she came across orcs who happened to kill her, so be it.  
  
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A/N: I don't think there was any weird expressions in that chapter involving worms, bunnies or any other animal. There was a mention of 'prey', but that expression is not mine.  
  
I thought I'd better put this chapter up too, as a gesture of apology for the chapters when nothing happened, those being all previous chapters. I will update soon. Promise. Please review! I love reviews! Yay for reviews and yay for reviewers. 


	6. An Offer of Hope

Ok, I understand that you don't understand why it's all Mary-Jane's fault. Well, it's not. That's the simple answer. She's a Mary-Sue, so is therefore perfect, so how could it be her fault? (rhetorical question, do not feel obliged to answer. She just thinks it's her fault, you find out why later. You could say it is actually her fault, but you would be wrong.  
  
It is a little angsty so be warned. I am not responsible for any mental health problems resulting from this fic, just as I am not held responsible for any organ failures or internal haemorrhaging that may come about as a result.  
  
That being said I will now proceed to write the chapter.  
  
Onwards!  
  
Chapter 6: (can you believe it's already chapter 6??? Well it is)  
  
It was her fault: she knew it. She stumbled blindly through the forest, not knowing where she went, not caring.  
  
She didn't care about the orcs or the danger they presented. She didn't care about the branches clinging to her, tearing at her skin and clothing. All she knew was that a man was dead, because of her. It was all her fault.  
  
Her brilliant sword skills, which she had miraculously acquired, hadn't been enough. She was a burden on Legolas, a burden that he should never have had to bear on his slender shoulders. If it hadn't been for her, he could have been there. He could have made it on time. Answered the desperate call, its last plea for life. She had denied Legolas this chance. Now the man was dead. She had denied this man his life.  
  
She should have done something more. She had been only concerned about her own life. She hadn't cared for anyone or anything else. She tried to call it human nature, when we are in deadly peril we instinctively choose our own life over others. That would not work. She only felt guiltier, trying to shift some of the blame. She was selfish and someone's life had paid for that selfishness. She hadn't done enough. She could've done more.  
  
She wiped the tears from her cheeks and eyes, smearing mud across her face. She flicked back her hair in an attempt to keep the strands from blinding her (and yes, her hair is still brown). Still the tears came. She made no attempt to compose herself. Let them fall, she thought. She'd given up caring about so much, why care about tears? She deserved to suffer from guilt and pain. It was her fault. Perhaps the guilt would run out of her with the tears, she thought. Maybe her guilt would find an escape from her mind and body through her tears.  
  
She could walk no further. Her energy was finally spent. Her mind was threatening to give up under the pressure of her mounting emotions. Her legs gave way, falling from under her. She buckled at the knees and fell forward, onto her face. She felt half-inclined to stay there. Leave herself; face down on the forest floor. To die. She had lost the will to go on. Lost the will to live.  
  
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Legolas stood, staring at the two figures amidst the strewn orc bodies. Boromir was dead. He died, trying to save Merry and Pippin. Perhaps Men could be gallant after all. His heart was filled with pity for the man who had fallen. He sensed that Boromir's death heralded the end of something. The end of the fellowship.  
  
Gandalf's departure had weighed heavily on all their hearts and any hope that remained had been dashed and shattered. But hope was still there; in it's weakest and smallest form. Now that Boromir was dead it was hard to find any hope at all. Did Galadriel not say that hope remained while the fellowship stayed strong and true? But now the fellowship was broken. Where could hope now be found?  
  
He heard Mary-Jane's footsteps as she left the clearing, and stumbled through the forest. The footsteps grew fainter. Too overcome with grief he did not follow her.  
  
Legolas searched his mind and soul for the remnants of the shattered hope. He felt something stir in his heart. Something that felt like courage, determination, perhaps even hope. It grew in the dark places of his heart, seeping into the parts covered by grief and remorse. He was not going to let go. He was not going to give up.  
  
It was Gimli who woke him from his meditations. The world had seemed to stop; there had been nothing except grief, pity and reflections. Gimli was on his knees, grieving over Boromir's departure. He stood, the movement rousing Legolas from his trance. Gimli looked troubled and concerned, but determined, reflecting Legolas' state of mind. Aragorn glanced up at Gimli, guessing his thoughts and agreeing. This was no place to grieve for a fallen warrior. His noble death inspired the very deepest of grief, but the time would come when they could express it, at the right time, at the right place: Minas Tirith.  
  
Danger was still lurking in the deep forest, Aragorn knew to well that they were easy prey, grief stricken, weary from battle and the long journey. They carried Boromir's body back to the Great River. The river, the Anduin, flowed south to Gondor. Boromir was finally going home, and soon his kinsmen would know of his departure from this world (if you haven't read Two Towers you should, I am writing this assuming you've all read it, so am not to be held responsible for any 'spoilers' as there are none).  
  
They reached the shore. Legolas' sharp eyes detected movement on the opposite shore. It did not look like orcs, they did not move in that fashion. Then it dawned on him.  
  
'Frodo and Sam have reached the Eastern Shore!' He cried.  
  
'Yes, I let them go,' replied Aragorn, Gimli looking on in amazement. He had given up all hope, thinking that the orcs had taken Frodo and the Ring.  
  
'You mean not to follow them?' Legolas was confused, and a tad troubled by the remark.  
  
'Then we have failed: the Fellowship has failed. We are failures,' Gimli sulked. Legolas looked down at him in distaste, he didn't like being called a failure, he had never failed in anything in his life. They had been unlucky, but it was just plain rude to brand them all as failures. Aragorn was looking at Gimli with a similar expression. He didn't like being called a failure either, but wasn't as personally offended as Legolas by his remarks. He decided to say something heroic.  
  
'Frodo and Sam's fate is out of our hands now,' he said, trying to convince them that he wasn't just saying that because he couldn't be bothered to follow Sam and Frodo. And the thought of Mordor frightened the shit out of him. He never meaned to go to Mordor with them, he was going to go off to Minas Tirith with Boromir, and live comfortably there for a while. But while we still have strength we may as well do something heroic like try to save Merry and Pippin, he thought. 'We will not let Merry and Pippin suffer torment and death under the cruel hands of the enemy, not while we have strength left in us.' He was getting good at this talking-like-a-king stuff.  
  
With that Aragorn jumped down, and ran, following the path of mangled shrubbery that marked the way the orcs had travelled.  
  
Gimli looked up at Legolas as if to say 'oh know, not again'. Unlike some he didn't appreciate Aragorn's spasmodic fits of determination. Gimli gave a yell of frustration and followed Aragorn. Legolas was about to follow when a memory surfaced in his perfect mind. Namigaal.  
  
Oh dear. He only hoped she didn't sulk off like this after every battle. He soon found her track, and followed it. He saw her, lying face down in the forest floor. Fear gripped his heart. He approached her body carefully. He didn't see any visible wounds but she could have easily suffered a mortal blow to the front, with no signs of it on her back. He was standing beside her before Mary-Jane realised that someone was invading her personal space. She gasped and twisted around, only now aware of the danger she could be in.  
  
Legolas jumped back in surprise. Namigaal was alive and well, so it seemed. Her face was streaked with tears, making lines in the grime and mud down her cheeks, and her eyes were red and swollen. She looked up at him, searching for answers that he could not give.  
  
He crouched down beside her, and lifted her so she was sitting. He looked into her eyes and saw the grief and guilt embedded in her mind. He couldn't se why though, this troubled him greatly, he yearned to understand.  
  
She read his questioning eyes, and tried to offer an explanation.  
  
'It's my fault,' were the only words she could find. 'I'm sorry.'  
  
'How?'  
  
'I should've done something, I shouldn't have even been here,' she faltered. 'You could have, if I wasn't here,' she was having trouble explaining herself, and it sounded lame and awkward when it was spoken.  
  
'You couldn't have done anything. He died for his noble cause,' he reassured her.  
  
'He died because of me,' she said bitterly.  
  
He started. Could she really be a servant of the enemy? Perhaps an unwilling one. He looked into her eyes again, trying to find the gravity of this comment. He could not see evil there. She was only blaming herself because she could not make sense of the situation and could not find anyone else to blame.  
  
'I can not force you to see the truth, for you know it well yourself. You will see, in time, that your presence here has been a blessing on us all. You could have done nothing to save him. He betrayed himself to the power of the Ring.'  
  
She did not understand the most of this, but took comfort in his words and his melodious voice.  
  
'Come. 'My fiends are journeying yonder,' he pointed vaguely, 'we must draw near them, and perhaps meet them again before the sun stoops low.'  
  
He took her hand, and helped her up. She felt his touch, like magic; it was soft and caressing, yet firm and strong at the same time. She ran with him through the forest. Her heart was lighter and her weary legs grew stronger with each passing step. She knew not what hope was rising in her, but rise it did.  
  
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That's it. I know it's a crap ending. I'll write some more soon. But at the moment I'm supposed to be getting ready for my formal, so too-da-loo.  
  
Yeah, and need I remind you to review?? 


	7. Loneliness in lonely mountains, and a sp...

Yes, well, I agree, Europa, a tad on the mushy side. A TAD??? I read the last chapter again and almost needed counselling to help me get over the mushiness of it. Yeah, spew spew.  
  
Sorry I haven't written anything in a while. I had to baby sit a 4 yr old last week, so I felt a bit drained. I refuse to call it 'writer's block' because I'm not really a writer. Also I can write, just not very well, and I have no idea what'll happen next. If it somehow leaked out to you, please let me know what I'm supposed to write about. I am also very tired and am listening to a strange song about cows with guns. We are very warped here in regional parts. Or maybe that's just me.  
  
Yeah, I'm going to just write this. I don't know what I'm writing and what I'm going towards and what's going to happen in the meantime, but I'll just start writing, if it's crap there is a complaints department on the second floor of the 'Gail Enterprises' building. The head of complaints is Jane, also known as Elentari, so direct all complaints at her, I'm sure she'll appreciate them, well she made me write this fic, so she deserves it.  
  
I can't promise an absence of mushiness, but I'll try to refrain from writing a mushiness overload. But hey, this is supposed to be a legomance, and last chapter was the first time it was at all manced, perhaps in its loosest description.  
  
Once again I urge you to read Two Towers if you haven't already, or go and see the movie. I haven't seen it because it's not coming out here until 26th, I am so annoyed. Yes, it is vital that you do this, because I have ventured into the time space of the Two Towers, and am not to be held responsible for any spoilers. You have been warned.  
  
Chapter 7:  
  
Aragorn glanced back, checking that Gimli and Legolas were still following him. Gimli was running not far behind him, looking displeased and grunting in frustration. He was never really into this heroic type stuff; he was only still one of the company because he enjoyed tormenting Legolas so much. Also he was afraid of Elrond, and Elrond had been the one who told him he'd be going on this adventure.  
  
There was a slight absence of Elf in the party. Aragorn was annoyed. How was he supposed to be all heroic and kingly when he had to go looking for an Elf every time he felt enthusiastic? And what was the point of being all heroic and kingly when the only one to witness it was a dwarf who was forever comparing him to his own small ancestors?  
  
How frustrating. Stupid elf probably ponced off to go find that girl. The one who was decidedly evil and must be a spy of the enemy. Too bad Aragorn was the only one to have enough sense to see this. Either that or he was overly paranoid. Most likely the latter.  
  
Aragorn stopped suddenly. Gimli, who had put his head down to run more effectively, pelted into the back of him and fell backwards onto the ground, thus ruining Aragorn's thoughtful stance.  
  
'Where is Legolas?' He spat, liking the elf less by the second. 'He knew that time was precious and vital in our plan.'  
  
'Which is why I was fast in my arrival,' spoke a voice from beside them. The voice was warm and melodious, with a hint of laughter in it, like a stream playing over rocks in its course. 'You had not realised my absence until this time. You can hardly call it a delay in our proceedings.'  
  
Aragorn looked up at him and almost laughed. Then he saw a girl standing behind him. Aragorn was displeased. He had thought right. Legolas had ponced off to see this girl. She, noticing Aragorn's expression, cowered behind Legolas. Aragorn felt a pang of something that felt like jealousy. But then it was gone, leaving only a slight memory of the emotion, which was soon erased from his mind.  
  
Legolas laughed, a sweet laugh of a thousand warbling birds. Aragorn looked at him in surprise.  
  
'Delay your suspicions, Dunadain, all will be explained when we rest and have time for such talk, until then please accept only that she is a friend, and no servant of the enemy.'  
  
Aragorn looked as though he was about to challenge this, but then thought the better of it. He nodded, looking grim.  
  
He set the pace, jogging through the undergrowth, speeding up in straight or clearer patches. Mary-Jane's legs were heavy, but determination had lodged itself in her heart. And she would be damned if she was outrun by a little man claiming to be a dwarf. Legolas ran lightly over the forest floor. He made no imprint in the soft ground, or in the leaf litter. He seemed not to tire, and ran with the vivacity of a child playing games. His exuberance was astounding, and this above all things helped Mary-Jane to keep going. At times, when she thought she would fall in exhaustion, she would feel his presence, and the exuberance would rub off on her. Indeed, it seemed to affect the whole company. Or they were just naturally exuberant people, especially after a hard battle and many days hard journey.  
  
After what felt like an age, Mary-Jane looked up, only to find the sun glaring in her eyes. It had stooped low on the horizon. She watched it sink lower as she ran. The sun shining over the distant mountain range, delighting the hills with Her light, setting rays across the lands, it was more beautiful than any other sunset she had seen at home.  
  
Home.  
  
She felt a cramp grow in her stomach. She had not had the time or the energy to think of home before now. It struck her: she was lost. Lost in some world so different from her own. Where foul monsters fought beautiful creatures for reasons unknown to her. Where men spoke in tongues as beautiful as flowing water that touched the mind as if by magic. Where men died because of her unwanted presence.  
  
Tears ran down her face. She felt a loneliness as she had never felt before. She was alone and lost in this world. She did not doubt that it was another world. She had somehow stumbled into it. The forest had drawn her in. It had tricked her to entering into its depths, into stumbling into this unknown world.  
  
She did not understand this world. Legolas had talked of a Ring and betrayal, and many other things. She had seen small men and the dwarf. She had seen the horrible creatures with the white hand over their face. The creatures who didn't care how many of their number were lost, as long as they found what they were seeking. What were they seeking? She didn't know. But she knew that the four little men, with statures of children, were not running with them. They were gone. To where, she didn't know. Where she was going she didn't know either. She was just following blindly, hoping that soon things would explain themselves to her, that soon she would understand. She yearned for the acceptance of the dwarf and the dark man. She already felt accepted by Legolas, but he was confused as to the part that she played and where she came from. She could not answer his questions: she felt as confused about herself as he did.  
  
They had stopped without her realising. She was so caught up with her reflections that she had failed to notice how dark it had become. The moon had fully risen: it was quite late. She must have stopped running unconsciously, when the others did. She was no longer crying, and the tears had dried long ago.  
  
To her disappointment, Mary-Jane realised that they had not stopped for rest, but were looking for the path the orcs had tread. They had entered barren hills. Which barren hills she did not know. She did not recognise their form as any she knew, and the wave of loneliness came back to her, as a wave in a frozen pond doesn't. But they were hills all the same, that she could be certain of. She looked to the sky, already light was growing in the horizon, shedding a cold, pale light on this desolate place. The light failed to bring new hope or further their enthusiasm. Their determination stayed, however, unwavering, and it even continued to grow. Their purpose was giving them new hope and courage.  
  
The dark man, she still didn't know his name, seemed to find what he was looking for, and called them over. He glanced darkly at Mary-Sue, and then at her shoes. What a strange man, she thought. Then he looked southwards, and began to sing, about some place called Gondor. Or at least she assumed it was a place. She had never heard of this 'Gondor' before, and yet a light came on in her mind, then just as suddenly flickered out, leaving no memory of it.  
  
They continued on foot. Too consumed by the effort to talk much. But she learnt the man's name: Aragorn, and the dwarf's: Gimli. She felt she somehow found those names familiar, but logic overtook, and she erased the thought from her mind and memory.  
  
They came to a cliff, green plains stretched from its base. Legolas breathed in deeply, and let out a contented sigh. He looked around in all the pleasure of the green fields: the freshness and the life of it. Mary- Jane felt the cool freshness and life of the fields, and appreciated its beauty and magnificence after the barren hills.  
  
'This is the East Wall of Rohan,' Aragorn explained knowingly, staring out at the plains.  
  
'Rohan,' she rolled the word around her mouth. It felt familiar, like a memory resurfacing after many years. She ignored the feeling, but it stayed in her mind: dug into it like an overly determined splinter.  
  
[If you want another really bad animal simile (because I haven't written any in a few chapters), then I could easily describe the feeling as her mind being dug by a) a very determined, yet rather small and wholly unnoticeable mole and/or rabbit b) a rather efficient ant c) a prisoner trying to escape, again very small and largely unnoticeable d) a very neat, very small dog who only tunnels and doesn't really dig for the sake of burying bones, which isn't at all like a dog e) a rather angry but rather determined and resourceful worm, again the use o worm similes, I should stop doing that.]  
  
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Tah-Dah! That be it for this instalment. I will not apologise for any crapness. Flame if you must, but please keep in mind that it is not my fault, that Jane actually made me write this and inflict it on you all by way of FFNET.  
  
Nota Bene: NO ANIMALS WERE INTENTIONALLY HURT DURING THE CREATION OF THIS CHAPTER OR DURING THE CREATION OF THE APPALLING SIMILES FEATURED IN THE LAST PARAGRAPH OF THE CHAPTER, NOT REALLY A PARAGRAPH, BUT THE LAST BIT.THING.  
  
New chapter should come soon, unless I have another brain-draining experience, or go on any more money-making ventures. So maybe, maybe not. I actually have no idea. I also have no idea what happens next (was that apparent in this chapter? Oh well) so if you have any suggestions/comments/ideas/cures it would all be appreciated. 


	8. Trudging through the plains of Rohan

A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in ages, but I've been slack. That basically sums me up. I'm on holidays, so have no excuse for such behaviour as this. I'll go sit in the corner now and reflect upon my past ways and inactions. No, I won't do that, I'd rather just write this chapter.  
  
My brain has been switched off for quite a while now, and is not fully recharged. Apologies for the crappiness.  
  
Here we go.  
  
You sure you want to go through with this?  
  
Chapter 8:  
  
They trudged on. The minutes flowed slowly to hours. The sun slowly crept above the horizon, painting the sky with colours not known in the nighttime world: it grew grey, then pink, slowly shifting to purple and then to the rich blue of morning. Too caught up in her own affairs, Mary-Jane failed to notice the extravagance of the sunrise, or to appreciate the beauty and hope a new morning can find. Still they walked. Their pace was quick and sure, following the Orc's path. It took little skill to follow it, even Mary-Jane had little trouble. Hundreds of booted feet had tramped over the fair fields of Rohan in great haste. But the path was getting old, and they had little hope of overtaking the orcs.  
  
This was all that Mary-Jane knew. She knew that they were trying to overtake the orcs, as the foul creatures had captured two of the Company during the battle next to the river. Why they had even had a battle, or why they were fighting she had no idea. She didn't know what differences the two sides held between them, what each believed in. She had learnt enough in her own world to know that one side was not necessarily going to be wholly right, on the side of good, and the other working for evil. It was easy to believe it when she was fighting, but on reflection, was it possible for one side to be good, and the other evil? Because one side was good, did it immediately follow that the other was evil? These questions kept floating around in Mary-Jane's head whilst she trudged on after Legolas and Aragorn. The thoughts flowed in circles. When she finally felt that she had answered some of her questions a new bit of reasoning would present itself and throw her whole mind into chaos and confusion.  
  
Legolas was struggling to find hope in the depths of his heart. He did, however, notice the beauty and magnificence of the sunrise, but it gave him little pleasure. He knew the advantages of the Orcs in this chase, but still his heart was lighter than those of the rest of the company, and still he stepped lightly and tired little. He rested his mind during the long treks, and walked in dreams in the woods of the north.  
  
Mary-Jane felt like a machine, but for the confusion in her mind she felt, heard and saw little. Her whole concentration was on going one step more, then another step, and another one after that. She did not know how far the landscape stretched in front of her, or how far she would have to go on foot before rest. In this way she found the day slipping slowly away under her aching feet. They stopped few times in their trek, short breaks to eat or rest for a matter of minutes. But that was all.  
  
They stopped again. Mary-Jane could not find the will to sit, as it would mean only that she would have to find the will and energy to get up again in a short while. She stood there dumbly. Aragorn had told them to halt, and was going on ahead. He veered from the main path, following a fainter, smaller one, then came running back.  
  
'It is plain. One of the hobbits, Pippin I think, came off the path, and look,' said Aragorn, holding up what looked like a fallen leaf.  
  
'A brooch of an elven-cloak of Lórien,' said Gimli and Legolas together.  
  
'A brooch of a whatty-what of what?' Asked Mary-Jane, her confusion had gone far enough, it was time for some answers.  
  
'The leaves of Lórien never fall idly,' said Aragorn, ignoring Mary-Jane, this was hardly the time for questions or answers to them. 'We know now that one hobbit was alive when they passed through this spot. But the trail is old, and it may have been some days ago when they cast away this vital clue.'  
  
'Hobbit, Lórien?' She whispered under her breath. She was going to go mad if she didn't get answers soon.  
  
Legolas smiled knowingly at her. 'Hobbits, are the Halflings you saw when you first met the company, children perhaps to your eyes. Lórien is the fair wood realm north of this place.'  
  
This little insight was not much, but it had to satisfy Mary-Jane as they continued trudging on a moment later. She was still left with her many questions, and added to that was a new one 'how the hell did he hear me?'  
  
Daylight faded and evening drew on. It became harder to see the trail.  
  
'We are faced with another choice.' Stated Aragorn. 'We can either continue through the night and chance to miss any other paths or clues that the hobbits may have made, or rest here and loose more ground on our enemies.'  
  
'I vote we rest here,' said Mary-Jane before she knew the words had spilled from her mouth.  
  
The three men looked at her, then glanced away, lost in their own thoughts.  
  
'Surely orcs must rest,' said Gimli doubtfully.  
  
That began a long and fruitless discussion, which at last ended in agreement: they would let their guide Aragorn choose what was best.  
  
Damn them, thought Aragorn, bloody sheep all of them! Follow the one in front, that's it. He stared into the distance, that always helped him think, and felt his mind shutting down from weariness. He could not walk much farther without sufficient rest.  
  
'We will rest here for the night, then set out at sunrise,' he said. 'We can not risk missing a path or any clue in our chase.'  
  
Mary-Jane looked up from where she sat. Finally she could rest.  
  
Aragorn threw himself to the ground, and fell immediately to sleep. Gimli soon followed. But Legolas still remained standing. He looked troubled and frustrated.  
  
Mary-Jane shut her eyes, waiting for sleep to fall on her like a thick blanket. But sleep did not come. Her body was weary but her mind and heart were still a tangle of confusion.  
  
'Please,' she began, looking at Legolas through the darkness. He turned to look at her, his keen elvish eyes sensing the trouble of her heart through the darkness. 'Please, I need to find some answers, some meaning to these riddles.'  
  
'I know not what you know, and am hardly the one to answer the questions that dwell in your heart,' he replied. 'Rest, all will reveal itself in it's own due course.'  
  
'I can hardly sleep with my mind in this confusion. I don't know anything of this land, this world. I don't know why I fought with you, against the orcs, I don't know why I am here or how I got here.' She said, staring at the ground trying to stop the tears that were threatening to flow from her eyes.  
  
'I cannot answer these questions, but I can tell what I know, and it may aid in calming your mind.' He paused. 'How much do you know?'  
  
'Only that I fought vile creatures, killed them for the sake of your cause. Your cause I do not know. I don't know the significance of what you are fighting for, or against. I don't even know if I'm fighting for the right side.'  
  
So he told her of the forging of the Great Rings, and how Sauron had forged the One Ring in secret, One Ring to rule them all. He told her of the Last Alliance, and how Isildur defeated Sauron. He told her how the creature Gollum came to have the Ring, and how the hobbit Bilbo found it. He told her how darkness had crept back into the world, into Mirkwood. He told her how Sauron fled from Dol Guldur, and found his way back to the Shadow-lands of Mordor. Then he told her of the servants of the Enemy, his orcs, the men allied to him, the traitor Saruman, and his Nazgul. Then he told her of Frodo's quest, the Council of Elrond, and the quest of the Fellowship. Then he told her that two hobbits, Sam and Frodo the Ring Bearer, had escaped from the Orcs at the Great River, and had continued their journey to Mordor to destroy the Ring. He also told her of the Ring's effect on others, especially men, how it could not be used for good, only evil, how it could consume a man, and how it had consumed Boromir.  
  
'That is the account, as full as I can give under the circumstances. I hope it answers some of your questions.' He finished.  
  
'That is your account, surely, but there are two sides to anything. I'm sure the other side would present their case as favourably as you did yours.' Said Mary-Jane.  
  
He looked at her wonderingly. He had never doubted that any one on the side of good, as she obviously was, would ever consider that the side of the Enemy could look favourable. But here was a girl who was questioning which side was that of good. Astounding.  
  
'But surely,' she continued slowly and carefully, remembering Legolas' weapons, 'if this Ring had the power to do all this, it cannot be good. And those Orcs didn't care how many fell in the battle, as long as they got what they wanted, and I trust you and your company, I don't believe you would be on the side of evil.'  
  
There she had said it. She trusted him. She didn't really have a choice, but there it was. She had also fallen into the trap of thinking that there was a good side and an evil side. Surely it couldn't be as simple as that: but it seemed to be that way.  
  
And I don't like my chances discussing the matter with one of those orcs, she added in her mind. With that she closed her eyes and felt the thick comfort of sleep settle over her mind.  
  
Legolas arose with the sun, and woke the company. They grumbled in their sleep, annoyed that they were to get up so soon. Legolas was impatient, he felt they had lost enough time and didn't like the idea of being idle when he could be gaining in their chase.  
  
They started walking again. Mary-Jane felt a tad refreshed after her deep slumber, but not revived. She had eaten nothing but some strange bread called lembas, it filled her stomach after only a bite: it was a strange feeling. Legolas had said it was elvish waybread, made by the Elves of Lothlórien. She only assumed that Lothlórien was the same woodland realm as Lórien. That would make things a little less confusing. And who were these elves anyway? She often wondered. Perhaps Legolas was one of them, that may explain the pointy ears. Maybe he was just a nice guy who had strange ears, which he was probably persecuted for as a child. In that case he would be pretty sensitive in that area, so Mary-Jane thought it wise not to mention it, especially as the two other men seemed not to notice the ears.  
  
'It feels as if some force is against us,' said Aragorn. 'A force that lends speed to our enemies, the will is against us. It makes me weary, as I have never felt before. I distrust this land, even the moon, everything.' He glanced meaningfully at Mary-Jane. She didn't have the energy to defend herself, and no real argument anyway.  
  
Still they continued on foot, with hearts heavy with unnatural weariness. They came to a hill. It was green, as was the rest of the landscape. Legolas was walking lightly as ever, while the rest of the company trudged heavily behind him.  
  
'Let us climb the green hill,' he said. Mary-Jane glared at him. His energy was really annoying her, and he insisted that they all suffer by way of hill-climbing just because he wasn't tired and he felt like it. Nevertheless they climbed the green hill. There they rested for the night.  
  
They all fell asleep within minutes. All save Legolas, who stood, sometimes pacing, humming and singing to himself in his own fair tongue. Mary-Jane slept fitfully, as it was a cold night, when she awoke she found herself lulled to sleep by his beautiful voice, creating images of peace and beauty in her mind.  
  
They woke as the sun rose over the horizon. Aragorn was staring into the distance, following the orc trail with his eyes.  
  
'Riders!' he called back to them. 'They are many and swift.'  
  
Legolas jumped up, following his gaze. 'There are one hundred and five.' He said. 'Yellow is their hair, and bright are their spears. Their leader is very tall.'  
  
'You know, just take a rough estimate on their numbers, 'many' was good enough for me, good thing you have abnormal vision, in case we wanted to know what colour their hair is,' smirked Mary-Jane.  
  
Legolas glared at her, rather hurt, Gimli smirked.  
  
'Keen are the eyes of elves,' laughed Aragorn. Legolas continued to glare.  
  
'So you are an elf,' said Mary-Jane.  
  
Gimli looked at her strangely. 'Well, what did you think he was, a dwarf!?'  
  
'I didn't.I thought that.' she began.  
  
'Quickly, they approach,' interrupted Aragorn, leading them down the hill.  
  
'How do we know these riders are friends? I heard the Rohirrim pay tribute to Mordor.' Said Gimli.  
  
'We do not know, but I do not believe such rumours.' Answered Aragorn. 'But in any case, they will bring news, be it good or ill.'  
  
The riders approached swiftly, their steeds bearing them at a great pace.  
  
'Quickly,' whispered Legolas in Mary-Jane's ear. 'Under my cloak.'  
  
She looked up at him doubtfully, who was this freak and what did he think he was doing?  
  
'It is a cloak of Lórien, it will protect you from unfriendly eyes,' he explained quickly.  
  
'Must go to this Lórien, seems like it's the place to be,' muttered Mary- Jane.  
  
'If by 'the place to be' you mean that it is a place of great beauty and peace, then you are correct in your assumption,' said Legolas, as he covered her in his cloak.  
  
The riders came, and soon Mary-Jane could feel the rhythms of the hoof beats in the earth. Then the beats were upon them. She could not see, as her head was covered in the cloak. She pushed her head through the gap, convinced that she was about to be run over by one hundred and five galloping horses. She got her head up just in time to see the first of the horses pass, their riders apparently not seeing the four strangers in their lands. Still they passed. The last were soon to pass when they heard Aragorn's voice call out above the thundering feet of the horses: 'Riders of Rohan, what news from the North?'  
  
*~**~*~~**~*~*~**~*~*~*~**~*~*~  
  
Thus ends the eighth instalment of this fic. It was a bit longer than my other chapters because I haven't written in ages and I figured I might as well do it properly, none of the tiny chapters because I can't be bothered to write it stuff. More chapters coming soon, I won't promise because then I'm likely to break the promise, so I'd just rather not make the promise in the first place. That's all I have to say. 


	9. The Riders of Rohan and a Biting Tree

Well well well, it's that time again. I can only marvel at your stamina as a reader and how you blindly walk into the dark depths of literary torture, and continue to put yourself through such mental pain. I can only say that you shouldn't feel obliged in any way to read this, nor should you read this just because you feel sorry for me.  
  
I'm sitting here eating carrot cake, which I should not be doing at the computer, but oh well. I don't know why I am eating carrot cake, I can only conclude that I am hoping it will bring forth the small and over-taxed creative juices in my possession. I only hope it works, for your sake at least.  
  
And I owe Mary-Jane's horse's name to Jane, so thanks Jane. Except Jane wanted me to call the horse this elvish name that basically meant 'lake of birds'. No thanks for that suggestion. Any complaints about the name need to be addressed to Jane, and NOT me. Thank you for your time.  
  
Here we go:  
  
Chapter 9:  
  
The riders wheeled around with astonishing speed, accompanied by many cries of 'what the.?' from the horsemen. They circled in on the company, ever closer and closer, until they suddenly halted, and one hundred and four spears were pointed at the four members of the company. A man dismounted, obviously the leader of the touchy bunch. Legolas had been right: he was tall. He glared at the intruders as if they had just gate crashed his party and put worms in all the drinks. The latter they had certainly not done, as for the former - who knows how the crazy horse-lords celebrate, perhaps they do go gallivanting around the countryside with spears and on horses. Perhaps the idea of a great party in Rohan was based on the amount of spears they got to use, and how muddy their horses got.  
  
In short: they were not impressed.  
  
'What are you doing in this land?' the tall dismounted horse-lord demanded.  
  
'We were hunting orcs, a bit of fun you know,' started Gimli.  
  
'They captured our friends, we were being heroic and rescuing them,' Aragorn corrected Gimli.  
  
'Hmmm,' the Horse Guy was not impressed by their try-hard heroism. 'What are your names, and what gives you the right to go tramping through this fair country?'  
  
'Tell me your name first,' said Gimli stubbornly.  
  
Aragorn glared at him. 'I am called Strider.'  
  
'No, no, your real name if you please,' the Horse Guy was getting impatient.  
  
'I am also known as Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and am called Elessar, the Elfstone, Dúnadan, the heir of Isuldur Elendil's son of Gondor,' said Aragorn, seeming only too pleased to give his full title. 'This is Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood, son of King Thranduil, Gimli son of Gloin of the Lonely Mountain, and Namigaal.'  
  
'I am Éomer, son of Éomund, the Third Marshal of the Riddermark,' said the tall Horse Guy. 'What or who gave you right to enter these lands?'  
  
'I said before that two of our friends were taken captive by orcs, we wished to save them,' answered Aragorn. 'We had no choice but to go on foot, as you see us now. We would cross any lands in our chase if we hoped we could save our friends.'  
  
'Hope no more,' said Éomer, 'we killed all the orcs, and found none others with them.'  
  
'These were but children to your eyes, hobbits, the halflings they talked of in Gondor. They too were wearing cloaks such as these, cloaks which you missed us in, in the broad light of day.'  
  
'Perhaps we could have missed them.' said Éomer doubtfully, 'but I am confident in the thoroughness of my men.'  
  
'Then there is hope yet, Éomer son of Éomund,' said Gimli shortly.  
  
Éomer looked at the dwarf as if he had just discovered a rather slimy, and rather dead rat on the bottom of his boot. 'Don't be rude, little man, or I shall take your head off, or would, if it were a little higher off the ground.' He said icily.  
  
With hands faster than sight, Legolas fitted an arrow to his bow. 'He stands not alone,' Legolas said, his beautiful voice touched with menace, 'you would die before your stroke fell.'  
  
Éomer's eyes blazed in sudden fury, he drew his sword and advanced on the elf. Things were getting rough, it was time for Mary-Jane to step in. She sprang forward between Legolas and Éomer. 'You have established that we are no enemies but to that of the Dark Lord, please help us in our quest, not hinder us. My companions are tired from a long journey and their harsh words are those of weary travelers.'  
  
Wow, that was the best speech she had ever given in her life. Something had inspired this talk, like some sort of eloquence was hidden in her brain and was only set loose in such times of peril, when nothing but her tongue may get her out of it.  
  
'Harsh indeed were the words of your companions, Namigaal, daughter of.'  
  
'James,' she offered. In fact she didn't know her father's name, she never did. He had fallen into a lake and drowned about one hour after she was born, but she didn't feel that it was the time to explain all this. And she didn't see why she should be known as someone's daughter. 'But I prefer Namigaal,' she added.  
  
Éomer looked at her strangely. 'Indeed, he muttered. 'Thanks to your persuasive words you have saved your friends from the consequences of their words. You may take the three spare horses. May they bare you to a better fate than that of their previous owners. But you must return them, otherwise my actions will be called into question. Do not fail.'  
  
'We won't,' said Aragorn firmly, worried that Gimli might launch into one of his 'we're all failures' speeches.  
  
They took the horses offered to them. Aragorn and Legolas seemed thrilled with the offer, Mary-Jane and Gimli were not so sure.  
  
'You can ride with me, Gimli,' said Legolas.  
  
Mary-Jane felt a pang of jealousy. Where did that come from? She thought. She didn't like this freaky-eared, overly nice, sensitive, kind, perfectly proportioned guy now did she? That would only complicated things further.  
  
'I assume you can ride,' Aragorn smiled down from his mount at Mary-Jane.  
  
'A - a little.' Stammered Mary-Jane.  
  
'This is Lindon,' one of the horsemen introduced Mary-Jane to a petite gray horse.  
  
She looked up at it and gulped, she had ridden a horse once in her life, and that was when she was six and didn't know to be scared, and it was a tiny little pony that needed to be convinced to move at all. Lindon had a fire in her eye, and a spirit that emanated from her body. Mary-Jane could tell that this horse would rather be galloping across wide plains than be ridden.  
  
'She is gentle and easy to handle,' said the horseman, noticing Mary-Jane's fear. 'She will bear you any place you wish her to. She has a fiery spirit but without malice, she is truthful and honest, be not wary of her.'  
  
With that Mary-Jane mounted. She sat in the saddle a while, taking in the size and power of the horse beneath her. She shifted her weight tentatively, Lindon stood there, patiently waiting for instruction. Legolas mounted his horse, Gimli behind him. Aragorn turned his horse toward a smoking hill in the distance. Mary-Jane squeezed with her heel experimentally. Lindon moved forward, Mary-Jane guided her to stand next to Aragorn, and halted. It was much less frightening than she thought. It was as if instinct had taken over, as if she had done this before.  
  
Then they were off. Mary-Jane felt the air rush past as she urged her horse faster and faster. The power of the animal was phenomenal. Yet she didn't feel daunted by it, the power was there, but she could control it. The thrill of the ride was amazing, she felt free, free like she had never felt before. It was like flying, as if Lindon hardly touched the ground as she galloped across the plain. Mary-Jane guided her lightly, though Lindon hardly needed it.  
  
The three horses bore them swiftly across the plain, and all too soon they came across the battle scene. There was a mound of ashes, still smoking, where the bodies of the orcs had been piled up and burnt. There was also a mound, marked with fifteen spears to mark the fallen Rohirrim.  
  
A little way from the battlefield they made their camp. It was sheltered by a tree that seemed to lean over them. Gimli went to fetch any wood found on the ground, as they did not dare do harm to the trees.  
  
'Explain this one to me,' Mary-Jane said, 'why are we afraid of the trees? Do they bite back or something?'  
  
'They may well, but I don't think they would bite, still, there is a brooding and sinister air about them,' said Aragorn with surprising earnestness.  
  
Mary-Jane wasn't put on watch. She was thankful: she didn't understand why they would need a watch, or what to watch for if she was put on. She soon drifted off to sleep where she was haunted by pleasant dreams of cantering over endless green fields, she cantering on Lindon alongside Legolas. Oh dear, she did fancy him.  
  
Legolas was also asleep and dreaming. He was walking through the cool shades of Mirkwood, but a Mirkwood in the days of old, when no evil thing dwelled under its bows. He was singing to himself, the Song of Nimrodel. He came to a stream; it was beautiful, merrily playing over rocks, its current singing a song of its own. Then, on the other side of the river was a person, clad in a soft green. She had dark, flowing hair that covered her face. She was wading into the stream, singing to herself, a fair song, but not in elvish. She turned towards him, her faced still screened by her hair. Still she turned, he was captured in a spell, he was curious to know the face behind the screen of hair.  
  
A sudden movement roused him from his sleep. Aragorn jumped up from beside him. He sprang up, silently, fully alert. Mary-Jane sat up, her mind racing.  
  
'Well, what can we do for you?' Aragorn addressed someone. 'Come be warm by the fire if you are cold!'  
  
Mary-Jane turned to see an old man, wrapped in a cloak, leaning on a staff, a large hat covering his eyes. Aragorn's welcome was marked with accents of suspicion. Something was not right. Then she remembered what Legolas had told her about Saruman and the Treason of Isengard. Fear crept into her heart.  
  
Aragorn strode forward, but the man was gone.  
  
'The horses!' Legolas cried. Then, in case no one had heard him the first time, he cried again: 'The horses!'  
  
'Well, they are gone,' said Aragorn, 'we can't do anything about them until the morning. Hopefully they will come back on their own will, but if they don't we'll just have to do without.'  
  
Mary-Jane felt crestfallen. The loss of her horse meant more to her than she cared to admit, even to herself. She knew in her heart that they would not return that night.  
  
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Well, that's it. I have nothing more to say. Need I remind you to review, that's the only way I can know whether to continue torturing you with my literature, or if I should kill off Mary-Jane and end the fic already. 


	10. A Way into the Woods

So, here we are again.  
  
And yes, I do know that there is a Mary-Jane in Spiderman. I was unfortunately subjected to the movie after I decided on the name. Well, in truth, after my friend Jane decided on the name. I'm sorry to any Spiderman fans out there, but that movie really annoyed me, and MJ did too. This is only a personal opinion, and in not in any way shape or form, even in it's loosest description, defamation.  
  
Now, where were we? Ah yes, Legolas was being annoying and saying things twice, he really should get out of that habit.  
  
Chapter 10:  
  
They slept fitfully for the rest of the night. Gimli was convinced that the old man was Saruman. Mary-Jane didn't know much of Saruman, albeit what Legolas had told her. She feared him perhaps more than the rest of the company only because she knew less, and was afraid of this ignorance.  
  
The morning was clear, bright, and cold, it gladdened their hearts little. The thought of the old man was still in their minds. Gimli kept telling them that he knew that the old man was Sarumen, but Aragorn wasn't too sure.  
  
'Éomer said that Saruman went around hooded and cloaked, this old man was cloaked, but only his hat stopped us from seeing his face.' Aragorn argued.  
  
'Maybe he has a clone,' Mary-Jane suggested.  
  
The dwarf, elf and man turned to look at her strangely. She felt her whole face go red.  
  
'The horses haven't come back,' she tried to find something useful to say, and failed abysmally.  
  
They continued to look at her strangely until Aragorn interrupted their stance:  
  
'The horses! We all thought they had been scared away! Legolas, did you hear them? Did they sound like animals in distress?'  
  
'Yes, I heard them,' he said pompously. 'Had it not been for the circumstances, and our own fear, I would have thought that they did not flee in fear, but were greeting an old friend.'  
  
'So I thought,' said Aragorn, 'but I cannot read the riddle.'  
  
With that they started searching for signs of the hobbits. They crawled around on the ground for a long while.  
  
'Remind me again,' said Mary-Jane to Legolas, 'why are we crawling around in the long, dewy grass?'  
  
'We are looking for signs of the two hobbits, Merry and Pippin.' He replied in his musical voice, garnished with a hint of frustration.  
  
'Right,' she said thoughtfully. 'And what signs would hobbits make?'  
  
Thankfully, for Mary-Jane, Aragorn called them over to where he was. Legolas was looking like he was going to explode, but in a very beautiful and graceful way of course. He looked over to Aragorn, who was stooping very low in the grass, his face almost touching the ground. They made their way over to him.  
  
'Look!' Aragorn said triumphantly. They looked. At the ground. The grass on that particular patch of ground was green. Not any particular shade of green, but the same green as the rest of the landscape. There was also a leaf on the ground. It was a bit far from the forest, but it was possible that a strong wind could have blown it there.  
  
'Here is a mallorn-leaf of Lórien!' Aragorn said in the same triumphant tone.  
  
'And.' Mary-Jane prompted. She was cold and tired, and in no mood to guess at the meaning of leaves.  
  
'That means that the hobbits were here!' Aragorn was getting frustrated. 'The lembas bread was wrapped in the leaves of Lórien.'  
  
'And how do we know it is a leaf of Lórien, and not, by some strange coincidence, a leaf from Fangorn?' Mary-Jane was getting frustrated too.  
  
'Look at Fangorn, look at the leaves,' Aragorn said slowly with feigned patience. 'Do the leaves from Fangorn look the same as this leaf?'  
  
Mary-Jane stared at a convenient patch of green grass at her feet.  
  
'On with the riddle,' Aragorn continued, 'there are crumbs of elvish waybread here, and that is a sure sign that hobbits have been here. And here are the ropes that bound them!'  
  
'There's a flaw here, Aragorn,' Mary-Jane put in bravely. Aragorn glared at her, he was perfectly aware of the flaws.  
  
'You see it too?' Legolas said. 'Here is a battle scene, the marauding orcs are being attacked by the Rohirrim. If the hobbits did run from the middle of the scene, how did they run, if their feet were bound, and how did they utilize a blade to cut their bounds? And then, pleased with their skill and workmanship, they sat down to enjoy a meal, in the midst of a battle!'  
  
They all stood around looking thoughtful.  
  
'And then their trail disappears,' said Aragorn pensively.  
  
'One can only expect that they grew wings and flew away. It shall be easy to find them, we have only to grow wings ourselves,' said Legolas.  
  
'Where would you go, if you were a prisoner of the orcs, and were in the middle of a battle that does not involve you, and were trying to flee from both the orcs and the Rohirrim, who both had the potential to kill you?' said Mary-Jane to herself quietly.  
  
Legolas turned to look at her, a spark of realization in his eye. 'Namigaal is right,' he said.  
  
'Namigaal? Namigaal hasn't said anything of use since she joined us,' said Gimli.  
  
'You forget, Gimli, your ears are not as sharp as an elf's, he hears many things you do not.' Said Aragorn.  
  
They all turned and looked at her expectantly.  
  
'I was just thinking, what would I do if I was in their situation.' Said Mary-Jane. The company continued to look at her. 'So if I was fleeing from a battle scene, when both sides could kill you, then I would take cover, behind a stone, or cave, or a gully, or in a forest,' she said as her eyes came to rest on Fangorn.  
  
They trooped over to where the stream flowed out of the forest. There they found tracks, made by hobbits. There was at least one, when they reached this point, which was a good sign.  
  
'One hobbit at least stood here, before going into the forest,' stated Aragorn.  
  
'Well, we had better follow them into the forest then,' said Gimli, 'though I do not like the feel of it.'  
  
'I do not think the forest feels evil,' said Legolas, gazing intently into the gloom of the trees. 'It is old, very old, it almost makes me feel young again, which I haven't felt since I came on this journey with you children.'  
  
Mary-Jane opened her mouth to dispute his statement. Who did he think he was, telling them that they were children? He himself only looked to be in his mid-twenties at the most, and Aragorn and Gimli looked much older than he did.  
  
'It is watchful, and I feel the anger of the trees, but there is no evil, and if there is it is far away,' said Legolas in his musical voice, interrupting Mary-Jane's thoughts.  
  
With that they plunged into the forest, staying always close to the river. The forest was gloomy, but Legolas was right, it was not evil, Mary-Jane caught herself thinking. Then she snapped quickly back into what we laughingly call reality: How could trees be evil? Perhaps there are dangerous creatures in it, but that did not make the forest evil. Why did she find it so easy to believe that the trees were watchful and angry? Did they throw apples or something?  
  
They came abruptly to Treebeard's hill, and saw the rough stair leading up it's steep wall.  
  
'Let us climb and see around us,' said Legolas. 'I would like to breathe some freer air for a while, before we continue.'  
  
Mary-Jane wanted to through something at him, but did not want to upset the trees. She wondered where he got all his energy from, and was annoyed that he could still step lightly, while she trudged on wearily behind him.  
  
Nevertheless they climbed the stair, and once at the top, looked about, and breathed the fresh air.  
  
'Look,' Legolas cried.  
  
'Look at what?' said Gimli and Mary-Jane in unison.  
  
'We have not elf-eyes,' added Gimli.  
  
'Hush,' he said, 'speak more softly. There, in the trees,' he pointed 'coming along the path we have just trod, do you not see him?'  
  
'I see now!' said Gimli.  
  
'The old man!' Mary-Jane said. 'Still in the gray rags, that is why I could not see him before.'  
  
Aragorn looked down, a troubled expression came across his face. Mary-Jane felt it too. The approaching man brought a concealed power or menace with him.  
  
Legolas took out his bow, and fitted an arrow to it. Gimli readied his axe.  
  
Then the man was at the foot of the hill and looked up. His face was shadowed by his hat, so no feature could be seen, but Mary-Jane saw a gleam in his eye, a fire that she recognized. Aragorn saw it too.  
  
'Well met indeed, my friends' the old man said. Mary-Jane felt suspicion creep into her heart. She never like people who said 'my friend', so perhaps the feeling was nothing more than prejudice.  
  
'I wish to speak to you,' the man continued. 'Will you come down or will I come up?'  
  
Then without waiting for a response he began to climb the rocky stair.  
  
'Stop him Legolas,' said Gimli. 'Now!'  
  
'I said I wanted to talk,' said the old man irritably. 'Master elf, please put down your bow.'  
  
Legolas let the arrow fall to the ground, and his arms fell loosely by his sides.  
  
The man alighted the top of the stair, and walked towards the company. A glimmer of white could be seen through a gap in his gray rags for a second. Gimli breathed in sharply.  
  
'What are you doing in this part of the world, an Elf, a Dwarf, a Man, and, a girl, three clad in elvish fashion? It is strange, Fangorn has not seen this.'  
  
'You speak as one who knows Fangorn well,' said Aragorn.  
  
'Well? Oh no, that would take the study of many lives, but I occasionally drop by.'  
  
'Might we learn your name, and hear what you have to say to us?' said Aragorn. 'Only we have a pressing errand, and can't be held up.'  
  
'My name,' he said ponderously. 'As to what I wish to say, I have said it. I wish to know your story, and how you came to be here. My name!' he said again.  
  
Mary-Jane was getting used to hearing things said more than once in this place. It would make life much simpler if people only said things once, and answered direct questions with direct answers.  
  
'Come on,' she said impatiently, 'it's not a trick question.'  
  
The old man looked at her with a strange expression, as if trying to work out who she was. Failing that, he said again:  
  
'My name! Have you not guessed it already? I believe you know my name, you have heard it before, yes. But now, what of your tale?'  
  
The four companions were not comfortable with the idea of telling their story to some old loon who strolled around forests. For that reason they stayed silent.  
  
'Thankfully, I know something of your errand. I also know that the hobbits you are seeking, yes hobbits. Don't look at me as if you have never heard of them before. The hobbits, which you are currently searching for, came up here a few days ago; here they met someone they did not expect. Does that comfort you?'  
  
'Is it supposed to?' Inquired Mary-Jane. The old man looked at her strangely again.  
  
'Let us sit down, and be at ease.' The old man turned away.  
  
As if awoken from a spell the others relaxed. Aragorn and Mary-Jane drew their swords, Gimli his axe, and Legolas fitted an arrow to his bow. The old man seemed not to notice, or indeed care. He sat down on a rock, his gray rags parted, showing dazzlingly white garments underneath.  
  
'Speak, Saruman!' Gimli roared, astonishingly loud for his size. 'Where have you hidden our friends?'  
  
The old man sprang to his feet. He flung away his gray rags, his white robes shone. He lifted his staff and Gimli's axe fell to the ground. Mary- Jane felt she could not move her arm, nor the sword that was in her hand. Aragorn seemed to be suffering from the same thing, as he stood motionless. Legolas gave a shout and shot an arrow into the air, and it vanished.  
  
'Mithrandir!' Legolas shouted, then, in true custom of this land shouted again: 'Mithrandir!'  
  
'Well met, I say again Legolas!' said the old man. The elf, dwarf and man gazed at him in wonder. Mary-Jane didn't know what to wonder about, but she didn't want to be left out, so gazed at him in wonder anyway.  
  
'Gandalf,' Aragorn finally spoke. So this man was Gandalf, the wizard Legolas had told her about. She was beginning to understand.  
  
'Yes,' said the old man. 'I seem to remember that being my name. Yes, I amGandalf.'  
  
'Wait,' interrupted Mary-Jane, 'excuse me and all, but aren't you supposed to be dead? It's just, Legolas told me you fell into a bottomless pit with some fire-guy.'  
  
'Yes I fell,' Gandalf said gravely. Then noticing Gimli on his knees, he said 'get up, good Gimli, it was an easy mistake to make.'  
  
'But Gandalf,' said Gimli, 'you are white!'  
  
'Yes I am, dear Dwarf,' said Gandalf, he was getting good at this alliteration stuff. 'But tell me, all that has happened to yousince I left you and your quest.'  
  
So they launched into a long story of what happened since they came out of Moria. Aragorn did most of the talking, as Gandalf shut his eyes and listened intently. Mary-Jane sat apart from the group, looking into the distance. She had heard Legolas tell this tale before, and half-listened to Aragorn's account. Then Gandalf in his turn told all that he knew. He told of the winged messengers, and of Saruman's double-treachery.  
  
'So, you mean this Saruman, he's a traitor to your side, but he's also a traitor to the other side, the side that he joined and therefore became a traitor in the first place?' Asked Mary-Jane.  
  
'Yes,' said Gandalf. 'He wants the Ring for himself, and therefore is a traitor to both sides.'  
  
'Last night, said Gimli, we saw an old man, and we assumed it was Saruman, was it you or he?'  
  
'Well, you didn't see me, so it must have been Saruman.' Replied Gandalf.  
  
'Enough of this chatter,' Gandalf said, standing up again. ' We have an errand. And we need all the speed we can get.'  
  
'But the hobbits!' Legolas cried. 'We have journeyed far to see them safe.'  
  
'Ah yes, the hobbits. They are safe, they are with Fangorn, Treebeard in the Common Tongue, he is an ent. Their destiny is not with ours at this time, but who knows? Perhaps we shall meet with them again.'  
  
With that he started making his way down the stair. They followed him. Aragorn walked with Gandalf, talking softly, then Legolas and Gimli followed, then Mary-jane after them. She knew that Gandalf and Aragorn were discussing her, the feeling grew inside her, filling her with bitter discomfort.  
  
They reached the edge of the forest. Gandalf turned to them 'We must journey to Edoras, to give council and support to Théoden, the king of Rohan.'  
  
He turned and looked out into the distance, and whistled. Soon the company heard the galloping hoofs of horses, and four figures could soon be seen in the horizon. Leading them was a great horse they did not recognize.  
  
'This is Shadowfax,' said Gandalf, greeting the horse fondly as it halted before him.  
  
Mary-Jane looked at Lindon with joy. She thought she would never see her horse again. She climbed nimbly onto her back. Legolas jumped nimbly onto his horse's back, and help Gimli climb awkwardly behind him. Aragorn was already mounted, and Gandalf was whispering in Shadowfax's ear. He tossed his head in response to Gandalf's whisperings, and Gandalf was soon on his back.  
  
'We ride to Edoras!' said Gandalf loudly. 'To the King of the Golden Hall!'  
  
With that Shadowfax shot forward, like an arrow from Legolas' bow. Aragorn gave a shout and was off. Legolas and Gimli followed. Mary-Jane pushed Lindon on after them, faster and faster still, feeling once again the thrill of the ride.  
  
*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~**~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
That's it for chapter 10.  
  
Need I remind you to review?  
  
Oh, and I need your opinion: should Mary-Jane go off to Helm's Deep, or stay in Edoras with Éowyn? Or should the whole of Edoras journey to Helm's Deep, as they did in the movie? Decisions, decisions. 


	11. Reflections, and a Denial

Well, I thought I'd write another chapter before I am dragged, kicking and screaming back to school. I failed in that respect, as I am back at school already. Damn school. I am a little under-stimulated because of the brain- draining affect school has on one's mind. This may take some time to get going: my brain keeps crashing, something about an overload, so I have to keep restarting it, then files get corrupted, especially creativity files.  
  
And thank you to Jane for the horse's name.  
  
Chapter 11:  
  
The hours passed over the company as they rode to Edoras. The wind stirred Mary-Jane's hair, and she felt the unusual freedom that she could only find while on Lindin. Hasufel, Arod and Shadowfax were still galloping ahead of her. Their horses were tiring, but they proudly followed their tireless leader across the plains. The dusk gathered with the hours and soon became night. They rested for a few hours, but that was all Gandalf would allow them. Then they rode on again under the light of the moon. Mary-Jane followed blindly.  
  
The thought of going to Edoras comforted her. She had been in the company of these strange characters for many days without relief, and with little sleep, and her patience was wearing thin. However, she didn't know what to expect of this city, the riders they had met on their journey seemed very touchy and ready to turn on a stranger with swords blazing. It made her stomach churn with anxiety.  
  
Dawn came clear and bright, and a wind swept past them, lending a chill to the air. Shadowfax halted and neighed. Before them stood mighty peaks, tipped with snow. A stream issued from the snows, and caught the morning sun, making it shine with silver. Mary-Jane gasped, she had seen this sight before. The realization surfaced as if reminding her of a distant dream, a glimpse of memory, then it was gone.  
  
'Speak Legolas!' said Gandalf, 'what can you see?'  
  
'There is a white stream that comes down from the snows,' he said, shading his eyes from the morning sun with a long hand. 'A green hill rises upon the east. A dike and mighty wall and a fence of thorns encircle it. Within the great walls rise houses, and in the midst there stands a great hall of Men. It seems to be thatched with gold. The light of it shines upon the surrounding land, the posts of its doors and golden also. There stand men in bright mail, but for them all the court is asleep.'  
  
'Well, now that we know the colour scheme and what they wear, shall we ride to this golden hall with golden poles, set upon the green hill next to the white stream with men in bright mail guarding it?' Mary-Jane hadn't realised how tired she was. She was very tired, and hence, very irritable. She was also very confused about her feelings, and the memory that resurfaced before. She just wanted to go to this golden hall, eat some real food, and sleep in a real bed.  
  
'Those courts are Edoras,' said Gandalf. 'Meduseld is that golden hall. There lives Théoden son of Thengel, King of the Mark of Rohan.'  
  
Mary-Jane felt as if a thorn had stabbed her mind at the mention of Meduseld. She felt as she had when she had first seen Edoras, but more acutely. The memory resurfaced and reminded her painfully of something she did not understand, of days past.  
  
'Our road lies before us clearly now,' continued Gandalf. 'We must ride warily now. War is upon Rohan, and the Rohirrim do not sleep, even if they appear to from afar. Draw no weapon, speak no haughty word, I counsel you,' Gandalf looked at Mary-Jane meaningfully, and then at Gimli, 'until we come to Théoden's seat.' With that they rode on.  
  
At the foot of the green, walled hill they came to mounds on either side of the road. Upon the mounds were white flowers.  
  
'Behold,' said Gandalf, 'we come upon the barrows where the sires of Théoden sleep!'  
  
'Seven mounds upon the left, and nine upon the right,' said Aragorn. 'Many lives of Men has it been since the Golden Hall was built.'  
  
'Five hundred times have the red leaves fallen in Mirkwood in my home since then,' said Legolas. 'Only a short while does it seem to us.'  
  
Mary-Jane was getting the impression that these 'elves' lived for a long time, a very long time.  
  
With that the travelers continued up the hills. Mary-Jane looked from side to side at the mounds reverently, somehow knowing the importance and weight of the barrows.  
  
They came to the gates of Edoras. Many men all in bright mail were there, and on seeing the travelers sprang to their feet and barred their way with spears.  
  
'Stay strangers here unknown!' they cried in the tongue of the Riddermark. They looked at Gandalf darkly, and at Mary-Jane wonderingly.  
  
Mary-Jane did not know the language that they spoke, but still she understood them. It was as if her heart was translating their words, from an old memory long forgotten to her conscious mind. It was a language she had known in distant dreams, dreams almost forgotten.  
  
'Well do I understand your speech,' said Gandalf in the same language, again Mary-Jane understood. 'But few strangers do, why do you not speak in the Common Tongue, as is the custom in the West, if you wish to be answered?'  
  
Mary-Jane tried to conceal the smirk that was looming on her face.  
  
'It is the will of Théoden King that only friends who know our speech are permitted to enter through the gates,' replied a guard, looking darkly at Mary-Jane. 'None are welcome here in such times, except from Mundburg or from Gondor. Who do you think you are, clad in this strange fashion, and riding horses like to ours? We have watched you from afar, never have we seen any riders so, ah, strange. Who are you? Are you wizards, or some spy from Saruman, or some phantom of his craft?'  
  
'We are no phantoms!' Said Aragorn indignantly. 'These are indeed your own horses, they were lent to us by Éomer, the third Marshal of the Mark. We promised to bring them back, as we are doing today. Here is Arod, Hasufel and Lindin. Has Éomer not returned and told you of our coming?'  
  
'No,' the guard replied bluntly. 'Wormtongue came but two nights ago and told us that it was the will of Théoden that no stranger should pass through the gates.'  
  
'My errand is with the King of the Mark, and I am in haste. Will you not go and tell of our arrival, or will you not send someone?' Gandalf said, eyes blazing.  
  
'Yes, I will go, but what names and purpose am I to give the King?'  
  
'I am Gandalf, and behold! I ride Shadowfax, whom I bring back. Beside me is Aragorn son of Arathorn son of Kings, Legolas the Elf, and Gimli the Dwarf. A girl is also with us, whom Théoden may wish to meet, as I beleive he will find the meeting most intriguing.'  
  
He looked suspiciously at Mary-Jane, but resigned to being satisfied with the answer said, 'I will go. Wait here, but do not hope too much, these are strange and dark days.'  
  
With that the guard went through the gates. After a while he came back.  
  
'Strange indeed are the days we are witnessing!' the guard said. 'Théoden gives you leave to enter, but any weapon you must give to the door wardens, before you enter his hall. The girl is not to enter the hall unless information is given regarding her identity and her errand.'  
  
The gates were opened and, satisfied, they followed the guard. Mary-Jane was little troubled by the thought of not being allowed to enter the hall of the King. But it was fair enough that they be suspicious of all travellers, in these 'dark days'.  
  
'So much for not speaking haughty words,' she muttered to Gandalf, now unrestrainedly smiling.  
  
'I counseled you not to speak in such ways,' he said slyly. 'I did not mention how I would myself behave. I did not know you knew the tongue of Rohan.'  
  
'I did not know myself,' she answered quietly.  
  
Gandalf stole a glance at her. She got the impression that he knew more about herself and her ties with this land than she did.  
  
'Before you are the doors of the hall,' their guide said. 'I must return to my duty at the gate. Farewell!'  
  
He stepped quickly down the path, while the travelers climbed up the stair to the hall, under the eyes of the watchmen. No voice spoke as they climbed, but as they reached the terrace the watchmen greeted them in their own tongue.  
  
'Hail comers from afar!' they said, turning the hilts of their swords towards them in a gesture of peace.  
  
Then a man stood forward and spoke to them in the Common Tongue.  
  
'I am the doorward of Théoden,' he said. 'I must bid you lay aside your weapons before you enter. The girl in your company must not enter before telling her name and errand.'  
  
Legolas gave him his knife, his quiver of arrows and his bow. 'Keep these well. They are a gift from the Lady Galdriel of the Golden Wood.'  
  
Wonder came into the doorward's eyes, and he hastily put the weapons beside the wall, as if he was afraid to touch them. Mary-Jane smiled, amused by the suspicions and superstitions these people held against the unknown.  
  
Aragorn stood back, unwilling to part with his sword. 'It is not my will to put aside my sword, or put it in the hands of another man.' He said protectively.  
  
'It is the will of Théoden,' the doorward answered bluntly.  
  
'I do not think,' said Aragorn, 'that the will of Théoden son of Thengel should prevail over Aragorn son of Arathorn.'  
  
'You are in the house of Théoden, not of Aragorn, and the King shall have his own way in his own house. I promise that no man shall touch it. If that is not enough for you, Aragorn son of Arathorn, perhaps you should like to leave it outside with your companion, as she is not permitted to enter the hall.'  
  
Aragorn looked at Mary-Jane doubtfully.  
  
'I would do as the master of any house bade me, if it were any sword but Andúril.' Said Aragorn, speaking of his sword as if it were his favorite pet.  
  
'Whatever it's name, you must leave it here, if you would not fight alone against all the men in Edoras.'  
  
'Not alone,' said Gimmli gruffly, running his thumb across his axe. Then in case the doorward was slow on the uptake he said again: 'not alone.'  
  
Gandalf was getting frustrated at the childish turn the conversation had made. 'Come,' he said, 'we are all friends here, or at least should be. Here is my sword, keep it well.'  
  
Slowly Aragorn placed his sword against the wall. Gimli set down his axe next to it.  
  
'Your staff also must be left here,' the doorward said.  
  
'Foolishness!' Gandalf's eyes flared. 'It is one thing to be prudent, but quite another to be discourteous. Will you not let an old man rest upon his staff?'  
  
'A staff in the hand of a wizard is powerful,' said the doorward. He looked hard at the wizard and the staff that he leaned on. 'I believe you are friends who have no evil purpose, you shall go in.'  
  
With that they entered. Mary-Jane watched as they walked through the open doors. The doors shut behind her companions. She looked around and saw the watchmen watching her grimly. She sat down on the steps, looking out at Rohan, across the wide plains towards Fangorn, though the horizon hid the dark tangle of trees from veiw. Then she looked towards the Gap of Rohan, towards Orthanc where Saruman resided. A heavy blanket-like cloud hung above Isengard, lending it a sinister and evil appearance. She felt increasingly uncomfortable with the watchmen watching her every move. Their eyes bore into her, watching her as she looked about and wondered.  
  
The wait seemed like hours as she sat there under close watch. She tried to organise her thoughts, tried to make sense of it all. It was exhausting. The jumbled mess of her mind hid many things she did not know of. She wondered how the thoughts got there. She wondered most about how she knew the tongue of the Riddermark, languages had never been her natural talent, so how could she just suddenly understand what these people were saying? And why did she feel she had seen the Golden Hall before? It was all too confusing, she was already tired, and this was not helping. At best her attempts to organise her thoughts were merely confusing the issue further.  
  
She took to roving the plains of Rohan with her eyes again. Her mind wandered. She wondered what the watchmen would do if she just got up and left, or if she got up and challenged the doors of the Golden Hall. They stood so still, perhaps their only purpose was to stand there, looking menacing, and silently forbidding anyone to do anything they weren't supposed to. She smiled to herself. She felt her legs getting stiff, so she stood up, wondering if her movement would cause the watchmen to spring to life, drawing weapons, ready to attack. The watchmen failed to spring upon her, weapons ready, they continued to stand and watch. She walked up and down the terrace, feeling the cold breeze upon her cheeks.  
  
The door opened, and out came an old man, withered by age, but a new energy had just been found in his soul, a new meaning to his life. Mary-Jane observed this in him, and wondered how she could see so much of what was going on inside this old man. He was carrying a sword which blazed proudly in the sun, newly awoken from a long sleep. Following him came Gandalf, his rags thrown off, in resplendent white. Aragorn followed, looking proud, then Legolas and Gimli. Legolas looked upon the King with kindness in his eyes, his blonde hair gleaming in the light of the day. With the King was a fair girl, a tad older than Mary-Jane, or so she reckoned. She helped the King, and looked upon him in great joy, but also worry. She had fair hair, as did the rest of her kind, she was dressed elegantly but not extravagantly. She had a longing for adventure, Mary-Jane could read it in her eyes and her impatient gestures. She watched as they expelled a repulsive man from the hall. The man's gaze sent a chill through her body as he looked at her in wonder. She felt wounded as she sank into the shadows of the building, wishing to see, but not be seen.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The end. I feel very tempted to just kill Mary-Jane off here and now. She can fall down the steps of Edoras and break her neck. How's that for a swift, clean ending? A bullet in the head normally does the job. No, I don't think I can kill her. I can't really find it in me. Besides, I am having too much fun thinking of all the things Mary-Jane and Éowyn can do to each other. grins maliciously.  
  
I think I'll send them all to Helm's Deep, the women and children to the caves, like they did in the movie, I need Mary-Jane to be there when they go to Isengard. I don't know how else I'm going to get her there, unless she follows Wormtongue. Or does something equally stupid. But why would she do that? I mean apart from all the obvious reasons, being that she is stupid, irrational, and needs to install a logic centre in her head. I can't send her off to Helm's Deep with just all the men, that would be silly and improbable. And I think I want her with Éowyn during the battle, just to slow things down a bit. I know it sounds like I've already made up my mind, who knows? I might have I don't even know if I've made up my mind about it, but tell me what you think. 


End file.
